


Second Verse, Same as the First

by CaptainLaserBeam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Explicit Language, Hurricanes & Typhoons, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Starvation, Temporary Character Death, UST, Werewolves, Zombies, repeating day, the trickster hates your UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-13 23:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLaserBeam/pseuds/CaptainLaserBeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt: Dean/Castiel stuck in a repeating day</p><p>On a day that doesn’t seem to want to end, who’s life is worth more? A human’s or an angel’s? And for two creatures who seemingly dislike each other, why is it so hard for them to choose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the middle of Season 4, so before it was revealed that the Trickster was Gabriel. (which is why Castiel doesn't recognize him) Also, references to breaking seals and the possibility of the Devil breaking free, because that's what was happening at the time.  
> Thanks for reading!

~~~~~&~~~~~

Something didn’t feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

What a way to wake up. _Lame._

“Saaaam...” Dean groaned out, sounding like he was ten years younger. “Close the damn curtain…” His words were muffled by the pillow, but it would be enough to annoy his brother from sleep, at the least.

Sure enough, he heard the blind shift closed, the extra warm feeling that had stretched down his bared leg in the sunbeam now fading. He grinned into the cheap, fake fluff of fabric beneath his face, glad to have won that argument rather effectively. Sam must’ve really been tired if he just did it without comment…

Then it took him a second to remember that his brother wasn’t supposed to be there yet.

Dean’s hand gripped around the handle of his knife beneath the pillow and he twisted, ready to yank it out at any second with deadly intent.

“Hello, Dean.”

Instead, he very nearly jumped out of his skin.

Dean cursed, louder this time before he fell back onto the pillow with an irritated groan. Figured.

“What the fuck, Cas.” He mumbled before pushing himself back up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He yawned, then stretched, blatantly ignoring the figure behind him for as long as he possibly could. The stupid angel wanted to watch him sleep, fine, what the fuck ever. Let’m enjoy the scenery while he was at it, the kinky son-of-a-bitch.

But that feeling was still there, and it twitched a nerve that felt like a shiver down the back of his spine. Dean blinked before turning and giving Castiel an odd look, barely able to see more than a human shaped silhouette as he stood before the sun blocked curtain.

“Wait…seriously, what the fuck this time? Didn’t you do this to me yesterday? What’re you, batting for a heart attack?”

There was silence in reply, and Dean moved to wipe the sleep from his eyes and scrub a hand down his face impatiently as he ran through what he could remember of the previous day. It was weird, but everything seemed kinda fuzzy, like he hadn’t actually gone through it so much as maybe dreamed it?

All this ‘save the world’ shit was really gonna make him lose his mind.

Still the angel didn’t answer him, and Dean made a face. He stood to his feet and walked over to him, rumpled t-shirt falling down over his slim fitting shorts. There was a time when it would have bothered him that Castiel was standing in the room while he was half naked. Funny how he really didn’t care so much anymore.

He reached up and yanked the curtain back again, spilling the room with light so that Dean could now see Castiel’s face in all his plain-expressioned glory, as he himself blinked groggily into the sun.

The damn android was looking at him contemplatively (or what Dean assumed was with contemplation of some sort), but there was confusion there too. Maybe? Or maybe Dean was seeing things.

“You gonna speak at all? If you’re just gonna come in here and watch me sleep, I demand breakfast in return ya know.”

Castiel didn’t bite, but then, that was nothing new. Kill joy.

“I have more information for you on the seal you’re currently researching.” He finally said, his voice its usual, husky drone of righteous and boring. Dean rolled his eyes. “The book you need is called the Sefer-“

“Yeah, duh, you told it to me…yesterday.” Dean interrupted. “ Right? The thing with, uh…with the Hemlock book. The one with the spell we’re gonna need? For the medallion? You told me that yesterday…morning…I think.” Dean felt just as confused as the words he was saying. What the hell?

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and he suddenly looked even more confused than Dean did as his gaze shifted from Dean’s face to some un-aimed spot on the floor. Dean almost didn’t blame him, as the air seemed thick around them with something out of whack that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Looked like he wasn’t the only one working late hours then.

“Ok, so…” Dean started, avoiding any and all discomfort by way of distraction. “Now that that’s cleared up, what’re you-...” Dean let his words linger in the air, but stopped them short the second that Castiel disappeared in front of him, after a disapproving look that ended with empty space.

“Yeah, ok.” He finished, knowing he was now talking only to himself. Lovely, cause doing _that_ made those visits so much more fun, especially early in the morning.

Or was it early? Dean glanced back over his shoulder at the alarm clock that the last century had forgotten to take with it, only to realize that it was later than he’d thought.

“Shit.” He grumbled, making a beeline straight for his coat in order to pull the cell phone from his pocket; expecting a million angry voicemails in the process. He’d promised Sam he’d pick him up from Bobby’s that morning, especially since they’d found out that the book Castiel was talking about was ironically buried within the piles of Bobby’s library. Along with the holy grail and Jimmy Hoffa, no doubt.

Dean was surprised, however, to see that his phone was clean of voicemails, missed calls or texts. He checked the signal, but all the bars were full, even when he was standing near his coat. No draining battery, either.

“Huh.” Dean said aloud, hitting the speed dial and walking back over towards the bed to collect his clothes. It rang three times before Sam picked up, good sign.

_”Sup?”_

“Where the hell are you?” Dean asked, but without heat as he stretched his free arm back behind him with a few snaps and pops in retaliation.

_”Uh…Bobby’s? Remember? Research…splitting up to cover more ground…you got a hangover or somethin man?”_

Dean made a face.  
“Naw, dry as a desert, promise. I figured you’d be pissed at me for being late though, since it’s already past eight.” There was some muffled talk on the other end for a few seconds. “Sam?”

_”Sorry, Bobby was askin me something. And what do you mean, late? We agreed on two days, remember? You’re picking me up at eight on Sunday morning, not Saturday.”_

Dean stilled for a moment, that feeling once again rolling around in the pit of his stomach and making him feel ill. He swallowed, glancing back down at the ancient clock again to see that the date was, indeed, Saturday. Either that, or the clock really was as old as it looked and Sam was just screwing with him.

“I thought…wait…” He collected his thoughts for a second as he heard more muffled talking on the other end. “Isn’t…isn’t today Sunday? I thought I did the Saturday thing…”

_”Bobby says it’s Saturday, and he’s right so I’m not arguing. He said you need a calendar.”_

Dean snorted. “Yeah, tell him he’s buying. Screw fluffy kittens and waterfalls, I want naked chicks and pin-ups.”

_”You tell him yourself whenever you feel like doing some actual research. You seen Castiel lately? Cause narrowing this search down would be a whole hell of a lot easier if-“_

“Just use that book I told you about, dumbass. The one Cas suggested…yesterday.” Dean trailed off again, his head starting to feel numb as he tried to pull up memories of the previous day. That did happen, right?

_”What book, Dean? When you called me yesterday it was to brag about some chick you flirted with at the local diner.”_

Sam’s irritated tone usually made Dean smile, or laugh even, but whatever wasn’t feeling right was making things very un-funny. Dean wasn’t usually this scatterbrained, especially when it came to something as important as a seal. He licked his lips, scratching the back of his head and trying to think.

_”Dean? Wasup?”_

Sam knew him too well.

“Nothin’, guess I’m just still half asleep. Look, Cas told me about a book called the Sefer Razzle Hemlock…or something like that. He said it would have what we’re looking for, but it’s gonna need some decoding once you find it. You brainiacs are smart enough to figure it out, so it’s all yours.” Dean let it all ramble out of him in his usual tone, disregarding the feeling in his gut that didn’t seem to be going away. If anything, it wasn’t like Sam was there with him to help even if he needed it. Which he didn’t. He coulda sworn he’d told him about the book though…even been told in return that Bobby had found it. 

Weird. Guess he was just getting old.

_”The Sefer…what? Razzle who?_

There was another string of muffled conversation before Dean heard a fairly loud and mocking disapproval from someone that wasn’t Sam on the other end. Then Sam laughed, and Dean knew what was coming.

_“The Sefer Raziel HaMalakh, Dean. Is that what he was telling you?”_

“Yup, you got it. That. See, that’s why I leave all the book stuff to the bookworms. Have at it geek, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow. I’m gonna see if there’s any family history on that medallion around here, cause so far I’ve found diddly.” Dean pulled his pants on one-handed, hating how much this conversation was giving him a feeling of déjà vu.

“You sure I didn’t tell you about this yesterday?”

_”Pretty damn. You sure everything’s ok there? I can come back early if-“_

“Naw, dude. No worries. Don’t fall asleep in a book, bitch.”

_”Kiss my ass, jerk.”_

And that was their goodbye and I love you all rolled into one big happy dysfunction.

Dean grinned before he snapped the phone shut, glad to have at least talked to his brother just a little bit, even if he was off his rocker and thinking it was the wrong day. Whatever, small towns blew.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. Dean still had that nagging feeling that he was re-doing everything he’d done the previous day. No one recognized him or called him on it though, so he shook it all off as something he must’ve eaten. Or dreamed. Or the angels were messing with him again.

Which was so fucked up, but incredibly possible.

While Sam was up in Sioux Falls with Bobby, Dean had taken his few days down in Norfolk, Nebraska where Castiel had told them that another one of the seals would be. Not that he had given them much more than that, _obviously_ , but apparently it was the thought that counted. Aside from it being some kind of funky necklace that was involved somehow, there wasn’t much else to go on. Which encompassed pretty much Dean’s entire career with anything angelic so far.

Dean was fairly sure he wasn’t going to find much of anything, knowing how seals usually seemed to work, but he had no qualms mapping and working the place out ahead of time. It was better than sitting at Bobby’s feeling like a third wheel as the geek masters of the century plowed through the Singer Historical Library.

That, and Dean didn’t mind having a few days to himself. He loved his brother, that wasn’t even in question, but living out of each other’s back pockets could wear on the both of them. It would be good for Sam to get away, and easy for Dean to let him since he knew Bobby was watching over the kid. Pretty win/win in the end, if only Dean could stop feeling like he was missing something.

By the end of the day, Dean knew that Norfolk had been built in 1881 by German pioneers, some of whose ancestors still lived there. The largest employed company was the Faith Hospital, and the biggest draw for people to visit the place in general was to…camp. Awesome. No sign of the medallion or who it may belong to, especially with so little to go on. Castiel hadn’t even told him what the fucking thing looked like aside from ‘Silver’ and ‘old’. Helpful, that wing-ed one was.

It had been a peaceful day, but an annoying one after all. Despite how nice it was to chill out, Dean soon realized after the first few hours that he wasn’t all that good at it. He’d have rather been at Bobby’s throwing random shit in Sam’s hair than have to listen to anyone else in that city tell him how great and family oriented the place was. 

It took everything he had not to call Sam again, but Dean talked himself out of it. The kid needed the space too, so there was no use being a thorn. 

Which was why Dean was an awesome big brother.

By the time he got back to his motel, Dean was already dragging his feet enough that he didn’t even have the urge to find a bar or pool hall. There were probably plenty of shady places he could weasel his way into, but the fight just wasn’t in him. The chick at the diner he’d gotten the number from the day before hadn’t even remembered who he was, which was always an instant downer, and he just didn’t have the patience for hustling that night. No big loss, he had enough money from the last place to get them through another week or so.

The sun had long since set when Dean walked in the door, flicked on the light and stepped over the salt line to an empty, single bed room. Which was weird, but he wasn’t about to complain. It had cost him less anyway without the sasquatch included. Something almost arguable for the next time they were short on cash, and Dean smirked as he wondered if he could convince Sam to sleep in the tub.

He watched television half heartedly for a few hours before getting fed up with the local yokel channels and the 24 hour 4-H network. Shutting off the nightly farmer’s report, Dean twisted back around on the bed and doused the light. 

It was eerily quiet, but it had been the previous night too, after Dean had dropped off Sam. He set the alarm for the next morning, despite the fact that he was sure he’d wake up before then, but didn’t want to chance listening to his brother bitch if he was late. Not that he’d admit to missing the kid or anything, hell, he might actually be late on purpose just to piss him off.

The thought made him grin as his fingers curled around the handle of the knife beneath his pillow.  
Dean drifted off, wondering randomly if Castiel was gonna be around on Sunday morning, just to spite him. It was a weird thing to have pop into his head before sleep, but Dean wrote it off as just another one of those weird feelings he’d had all damn day.

 

“Dean…”

The voice was soft, and hoarse, but loud enough for the completely silent room. Dean was up almost instantly as instincts kicked in, the lamp flicking back on and the knife in his hands ready for attack, all in one breath. It took just a second for his eyes to adjust to the light, Dean’s heart thundering in his throat, but a few seconds extra to register what he was seeing before he could move.

“Jesus, what the hell?!” Dean let the knife drop to the bed, his eyes trained on the magically appearing angel as he stood in the corner of the room. Not that ‘stood’ was any good way of describing his posture at all. Castiel’s hand was braced on the television stand, the entire front of him covered in blood, along with the ruined tatters of his shirt and coat. He was deathly pale, and breathing so hard that Dean wasn’t sure why he hadn’t heard it before Castiel had said his name.

The second he got to him, he saw his eyes roll back and Castiel’s knees buckled; it was obvious he was going to go down hard. Dean got to him quick enough to avoid him hitting anything, but not enough to keep him upright as the two men slid to the ground awkwardly with a dead and messy weight. Castiel’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t even make a sound on the way down.

“Cas…hey! Castiel!”  
Dean stared down at him in horror before shifting the angel off his lap and to the floor in front of him in order to assess what he could see. What was left of Castiel’s business shirt was quickly yanked open and to the sides, wide and frightened eyes staring down at what wasn’t just one wound, but several, that were deep lacerations across his abdomen and chest. All of which were bleeding and had obvious internal injuries to go along with them. So much so that Dean wasn’t sure where to put his hands first.

It looked like Castiel had been mauled by a bear. Or a raptor, _Christ._

Dean got to his feet and ran into the dingy bathroom, catching sight of his now blood covered self in the mirror out of the corner of his eye as he grabbed all the towels he could see. He swallowed hard, running as quickly as he could to get back to Castiel where he fell to his knees at the angel’s side. Dean put as much pressure as he could on the largest of the wounds and Castiel suddenly opened his eyes with a loud gasp, confusion and pain blatant across his features.

“Hey! What the hell happened, Cas…why can’t you heal this?!” The towel was already halfway soaked, Dean’s fingers drenched in the heat, and it turned his stomach. “Heal yourself, man! I can’t just take you to a hospital, can I?!” His hands were steel, but inside Dean was shaken to the core. What the hell could do this to an angel where they couldn’t heal? What had Castiel been _doing_ for God sake? 

Castiel, for his part, didn’t seem to be able to get much more out than a choke, his hands moving to Dean’s wrists and clinging there as if he was holding him in place. Dean didn’t know what else to say or do, catching eyes with the bright blue that were more inhuman than human, but seeing a fear in them he’d never seen before.

“Cas…” Dean said in what was almost a mere breath, just as Castiel’s hands went limp and his eyes closed.

Dean stared with an unblinking gaze, still putting pressure on the wounds as if it would somehow put back all that had just drained from the body beneath him. His breathing staggered into his lungs, but there were no words. Castiel was as pale as a sheet, and there didn’t seem to be a damn bit of life left in him, let alone anything angelic. Whoever he’d been possessing didn’t seem to have much to come back to either, if there’d ever been anyone there to begin with.

Castiel was dead.  
He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.

Just as Dean was about to move his hands, a sudden burst of electricity jolted out of the body and arched Castiel upwards with a blinding light before he sagged back to the ground. Dean scrambled backwards and cursed as he felt the skin on his hands scald and burn from the extreme heat. He jumped to his feet before he realized that the carpet had already been scorched in a long and ominous stretch on either side of Castiel.

Dean swallowed, his hands red and shaking with sweltering burns as he took a few steps back, still staring with wide and horrified eyes as he realized that the cheap, burned carpet spreading out from Castiel was in the shape of something.

The shape of wings.

He couldn’t process it, couldn’t pull together what had just happened in the last few minutes that had just resulted in the death of an angel. The death of _his_ angel. For no goddamn reason that he could see or fight or take back aside from some crazy, fatal wounds on a guy that had once taken buck shots to the chest and hadn’t bat an eye.

Dean felt like he needed to scream.

“What the _mother fucking-“_

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Something didn’t feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

Then he froze, taking in a quick breath as he forced his eyes to focus and take in what was around him.

Motel room. Single bed. Sam not there? No, Sam at Bobby’s. Sunday?  
Wait…

“Castiel?” Dean twisted himself on the bed, the sunlight still streaking over him and the rumpled sheets that looked like he’d been twisting himself up in them all night. He blinked again, but was finally able to focus on the figure that was indeed standing in the corner of the room and still partially shadowed in low light.

Dean stood, glancing at the clock to see that it was eight in the morning before he turned back towards his early visitor.

Castiel, for his part, was not only standing where he had the previous morning, but was also looking down at the front of him with a spread fingered hand across his stomach. A completely intact, clothed and bloodless stomach. For a second, Dean couldn’t breathe, images flashing through him of something horrible that had just happened…or might have happened…maybe something he’d dreamed?

Castiel finally looked up at him as he approached, confusion plain and obvious on his features as he cocked his head at an angle like a damn parakeet.

“Hello, Dean.” He said, but it sounded more like a recording than he actually meant it. Like it was something he knew he was supposed to just say.

“What the fuck, Cas.” Dean replied in turn, but it was the same feeling, like he’d said it all before. “Ok, seriously, what the _fuck_ is going on?!” He wasn’t sure who he was yelling at this time, considering that he doubted Castiel would screw with him _that_ badly. If so, that was some crazy unnecessary dedication to prove a point.

“Why…why does it feel like I’ve done this before? In fact… _many_ times before. Are you…did you…”

Castiel didn’t seem to be able to offer anything but a slightly more confused version of his usual stare, before he suddenly up and disappeared without another word and a flutter of wings.

“Damnit!” Dean cursed angrily, his eyes moving almost automatically to the floor where he could still feel the phantom pain in his fingers from the burns Castiel’s death had ignited across his skin. “That is SO not helping, Cas!”

Stupid angel. What the fuck was going on!?

~~~~~&~~~~~

Pissed off and hell-bent on figuring out who was screwing with him, Dean had pulled all of his things together in five minutes and headed immediately to his car. 

The clock on the nightstand had said it was Saturday. Dean had knocked it to the floor.

If his head wasn’t so damn fuzzy, he’d know absolutely for sure that something was seriously wrong. But since he didn’t really have all that clear of a picture or memory, it felt more like he was going batshit instead of any kind of concrete evidence of manipulation. That or he was freaking out over a really vivid, reoccurring nightmare of some sort, cause it sure as shit didn’t feel real.

It didn’t help that Castiel had bailed on him so quickly either, but then, if Dean had the ability to disappear from everything that confused him, he’d probably have done it too.

He reached the city limits with the Impala, faster than he probably should have been going, willing and more than ready to get the hell out and maybe meet up with Sam sooner than they’d planned on. Mocking be damned, if this place was going to go all Silent Hill on him, then he sure as hell wasn’t planning on staying.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, however, irony reared its ugly head and Dean realized just a little too late that he’d crossed right back into the city. Without ever making a turn.

Cursing angrily enough to put even John Winchester to shame, Dean yanked the steering wheel to the side, turning his Baby in a great big U in order to head right back where he came from. The system wanted to mess with him? Fine, but he wasn’t about to go quietly into the night. There were other corners of this place, other streets that led away from being damned, and he was going to exhaust each and every one of them until he found the way out.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

After a few hours of driving and a nearly empty gas tank, however, Dean was now more frustrated and angry than confused. Whatever was fucking with him was now at the top of his ‘things to kill today’ list, but he couldn’t even give it a name.

Dean sat in the warm, quietly ticking car as it parked on the side of the highway staring at a ‘Welcome to Norfolk’ sign that should have been telling him he was leaving. He glared at it with his arms crossed over the steering wheel, worrying his bottom lip as he tried to think of what next to do.

Ok, so he was trapped. Awesome. There were worst places to be stuck in, he guessed. Sam wasn’t with him, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe he should call Sam? He didn’t think he’d died, seeing as the Hellfire was little more than a chipper fifty degrees Fahrenheit and nobody was screaming but him.

And there was no fucking way that Heaven was in the mid-west. Limbo, maybe?

Dean banged his forehead on the steering wheel, scrunching his eyes shut and taking in a slow breath.

“I think I know what’s wrong.”

Dean startled, hitting the car horn on his way up which in turn jolted his heart with just a little something extra he didn’t need to feel. He coughed angrily before turning to glare at his holy co-pilot.

“I can come up with a list, for fuck’s sake. Where the…” Dean trailed off, taking in the sight of the disheveled man sitting next to him. Castiel looked like someone had shoved him down the side of a mountain, then kicked him in the face at the bottom. His clothes were ripped in random places and he was bruised on the side of his neck and jaw, hair all over the damn place. No blood, thankfully, but it was still weird to see the angel in any state other than a Folgers’s perfect morning.

“Cas? What happened to you?”

“Every time I leave here, I go straight into a fierce battle. it seems I have no other choices but to either stay here, or be slaughtered.” Castiel stated bluntly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He looked exhausted, and Dean assumed that what Castiel simply called ‘a battle’ was probably far worse than what he could picture. “Just as, every time you try to drive out of this city, you end up back where you started.”

Dean bit his lip, trying hard not to point out the Master of the Obvious himself, but he looked too beat to prod further, and Dean didn’t want to know what a ‘fierce’ battle meant to an angel.

“Have…we’ve done all this before, haven’t we?” Fingers gripped tighter on the steering wheel. How long had he been stuck there? Days? Weeks?

“Yes. But I’m not sure for how long. You and I alone are being manipulated, I believe, but it’s by something more powerful than myself.”

“Something more…wait…” Dean pursed his lips and swallowed hard, his eyes scanning over the road in front of him as he thought hard. There was something familiar about this, something he probably should have recognized before but hadn’t really been in the right mindset. It’d been so long and they’d run into so much crap since that one, awful day. That, and it wasn’t like he could remember even half as much about it all as Sam did…

Dean jumped as he felt Castiel’s hands on him. The angel gripped into his clothes like a vice as he yanked him sideways and pulled the passenger door open at the same time in order to vacate the car. Dean cried out in confusion as he was abruptly pulled toward Castiel, just as his car was suddenly plowed into by a very large and very menacing looking piece of machinery.

The sound was deafening and everywhere.

Pain erupted through his lower half, the part of him that hadn’t made it out of the car in time as his vision flared white and he lost the ability to move himself in any way that might stifle it. Dean screamed, his fingers clenching into fabric of some sort and eyes burning with tears as it felt like his legs were practically being pulled right out of their sockets. He was being burned, run-through, dismantled, crushed; it felt like everything and anything at once that could possibly have hurt in the worst of ways.

The movement and noise finally stopped after an agonized few seconds that had somehow flipped the world upside down.

Unsure why he was still breathing, Dean opened his eyes in shock, his hands clenched and shaking as he realized he was clinging to Castiel. The angel was lying beneath him, staring up at him with wide blue eyes that had more emotion than Dean could ever recall seeing. It wasn’t exactly a happy emotion, either.

He turned his head, but suddenly wished he hadn’t, catching sight of what was left of his beloved car, scattered across the interstate. He choked out a sobbing breath, unable to stop his body from shaking as his eyes moved to follow the massacre back towards them and discover that a part of the car, the metal framework that he’d so painstakingly rebuilt himself, was twisted through and around his legs like a death-claw pretzel. Like he was suddenly more machine than man from the waist down. 

Not just that, but the truck that had apparently been passing by them, the one carrying the oversize load of construction equipment a few yards down the road he assumed, had lost one of its rigs. The large and terrifying looking thing that was now holding him in place like he was a pinned moth.

Dean screamed again in agony as he tried to move, unable to stop his hands from shaking before giving up halfway. He felt his head start to go cold and everything was numb aside from where he wished it was. His training went into overdrive as he thought about the signs of shock, what he should do, whether or not that big artery in his leg had been hit, how long he had until he’d pass out…too much to remember; his vision was blurring.

There were hands on his face and Dean cracked his eyes blearily, unable to recall when they’d closed. It was Castiel, his face smeared with blood, _Dean’s blood_ , and he was saying something. In fact, he was sorta kinda overtop of him now. How and when had that happened? Castiel looked like he was yelling something important at him, but it was hard to hear around the sound of his heart beating so loud in his ears.

_“Dean! Lis-…Dean! –ot real!”_

Dean swallowed, feeling more tired than he knew it was safe to be. Sleep would be a bad idea, right? Wasn’t that what Dad had told them? Don’t fall asleep if you get hit…take care of Sammy…

“Dean!”

He focused on Castiel again, wondering why the stupid angel was screaming at him.

“Dean, this is not real, it’s not actually happening. Do you hear me? Don’t close your eyes!”

Well it sure as shit felt real, but hey, if it wasn’t, then what was wrong with closing his eyes anyway?

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Something didn’t feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

A second later and he was on his feet, hands reaching for his legs as they cramped with the ghost of wounds that were no longer there.

Dean cursed loudly, a strong urge growing in the pit of his stomach to just crawl back into bed and hide underneath the covers with the biggest gun in his arsenal. It was difficult to ignore.

“What the…sonufa…” But Dean had just woken up, and now that all the blood had drained from his head after getting up so fast, he couldn’t help but sit back down on the edge of the bed. He felt like he hadn’t slept in a week.

And of course, just as he feared, Castiel was standing in the corner of the room, just as he always was. Same spot, same look, same goddamn morning. They met eyes, but before Castiel had a chance to say anything, Dean was on his feet, a determinately pissed off look on his face.

“Where the fuck are you, you sonufabitch?!” He called out angrily, grabbing the nearest gun he could reach from where he’d been cleaning them the night before. On Friday night. Cause it was Saturday. Again.  
 _Damnit!_

He slapped the clip into place and cocked it one handed as he reached for his pants, stone-faced and beyond pissed off in a way that few would live to see past.

“Dean…”

Castiel tried, but Dean wasn’t about to let him do much more as he held up a hand. Not yet, especially since he knew it wasn’t the angel’s fault and he wanted the focus of his anger to go straight to the source. Cas wasn’t doing this…but he knew what was. He cursed his own stupidity for not figuring it out before.

Pants acquired, Dean stormed out of the room, walking into the middle of the parking lot with no shoes and nothing but the clothes on his back and a weapon in hand. A deadly, seriously pissed off Winchester with a firearm. He fired six shots into the air and screamed.

“Show yourself, asshole!”

Dean seethed, his breathing harsh but his eyes sharp as he scanned the area. Someone had screamed in the distance, car tires had screeched, and Dean was sure after a minute he could hear the sound of a siren as he spun himself around, but he really didn’t fucking care. It wasn’t like he’d actually shot any body to gain attention, and Dean would bet his favorite gun that the douchebag was watching them from somewhere anyway. Dean didn’t care, he’d rather draw the bastard out the hard way than sit there and take it up the ass without knowing why.

He glanced back over his shoulder, but Castiel wasn’t doing much more than standing in the doorway to the room, looking stern as he scanned the area. Good, that meant that he was pretty much on the same wavelength Dean was, if he hadn’t already been there sooner.

The sirens got louder, and Dean was really starting to wonder just how great of an idea it was to draw the kind of attention he was getting. He was sure of it…he was _sure_ he knew who it was…but there was no way of knowing it exactly without the damn thing showing itself.

But this was what it liked, wasn’t it? Bravado, pompous arrogance. Well, Dean would be happy to shove his arrogance straight up the creature’s ass.

And then the cops appeared, and Dean wasn’t so sure anymore.

Two cruisers pulled into the parking lot and paralleled with a screech of rubber on asphalt, the occupants practically leaping from their cars and pointing weapons at him from four different directions.

Shit.

“ _Hold it!_ Put the weapon on the ground, and put your hands behind your head!”

Yeah, that sounded too familiar. Dean glanced towards Castiel again, but the angel didn’t really look all that concerned, his gaze drawn to the cops like it was something interesting he was watching on TV. Lovely. Dean swallowed hard, still _amazingly_ pissed off, but now iced with a layer of dumbshit to boot.

“Easy there boys, this one’s all mine.”

A man stepped out from the backseat of one of the cruisers, dressed as a cop, wearing a sidearm and the badge of a cop, but not really a cop at all. He had a wide-brimmed hat on and boots that made him about four inches taller, but Dean knew that smirk and that swagger from anywhere. He sneered, itching to raise the weapon up and just start firing, but catching eyes with the other four guns before he did anything. Even if the days were repeating themselves, getting shot _sucked._

The man stepped away from the vehicle, after adjusting his belt, and walked towards him, a great big sideways grin plastered on his face as the remaining officers didn’t say a word in response. They were all apparently under the impression that this was some high-ranking cop of some sort, somebody in charge. But Dean knew better.

“Trickster.” He practically spat, fingers itching to pull the trigger, even though he knew it wasn’t going to really do any good. It’d sure as shit make him feel better.

The Trickster’s grin grew impossibly wider, his hands moving from his hips to clasp in front of him in a mockingly familiar way. Dean felt ill.

“Am I blushing? After all this time and you still remember! That takes about a half an hour outta our conversation now, doesn’t it?” He snickered, far too amused with himself than Dean was comfortable with. The Trickster, however, didn’t seem to care as his eyes moved to catch sight of Castiel.

“And you, my feathery little God-whore, this is your party too, c’mon down!” He made a mocking swoop with his arm that Dean hoped would piss Castiel off enough to set him on fire.

Castiel, for his part, didn’t look all that happy about approaching, but approach he did regardless. Dean suddenly recalled the faint memory of being told that whatever was manipulating them was something more powerful than he was. Awesome. They were so outta their league.

“S’great, isn’t it? I love working with this medium, it’s so much more fun than non-existence.” The Trickster was practically salivating with glee, turning to wave his arms around him as if he was showing them the latest piece of crayon crap he’d tacked on the fridge. “Of course, the threads help too, dontcha think? I always thought I’d make a decent five-oh…”

“What the fuck are you doing here, and why the _fuck_ are you doing it to us?!” Dean seethed, unable to keep himself quiet any longer. Screw subtly.

“Tsk, Dean. Such language. Do you kiss your…oh, wait, I guess that’s why we’re here…”

Dean surged forward as his blood boiled, but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder. He flashed an angry glare at Castiel, but was also silently glad that he’d been kept from doing something monumentally stupid.

“What are your terms?” Castiel asked him calmly, and Dean’s eyes widened as he looked back to the Trickster, who was giving the angel an appraising look.

“So business-like and efficient, I like it. I oughta get me a couple of you guys one of these centuries…” He scratched his chin and cocked an eyebrow, looking more than obnoxious doing so with the hat and the getup .

“But anyway, so here’s the deal! First of all, it’s about damn time you guys noticed what was going on.” He laughed in a short spurt of noise that was like nails on a chalkboard. “Course, it’s not the first time, but this _is_ the first time you’ve noticed now that you’re remembering what happens the day before. Ya know, I considered just keeping you in the loop cluelessly, just to see what happens, but it was starting to get old after awhile…”

“How long is a _while_?” Dean practically cursed, shaking Castiel’s hand from his shoulder in annoyance. “How long have you been fucking with us, you piece of shit? Who’re you doing this for?”

The Trickster’s eyebrows shot up in a mock offense, his hand splaying across his chest like Dean had slapped him. 

“I’m offended, really Dean, after all we’ve been through together and you think _I_ can be _bought_? You’re in my tennis court baby, and even if you win this game, it’s still my field and those are still my rackets and my balls that you’re playing with.”

“Yeah, there’s an image I didn’t need.” Dean grumbled, shaking his head as he noted that the creature hadn’t really answered his question. He changed tactics. “What the hell is the point of this? Just dicking around for fun? Don’t you see that there’s a war going on?!”

“War, shmore. I’ve seen scarier shit on daytime television. Not my problem. But hey, I’m not without my vices. If I see something that’s getting on my nerves or that catches my attention, I find it worthy of my time. Plain and simple.” The Trickster drawled as he shrugged his shoulders. 

“Why are you here?!”

“Hey, you called me, remember? I was just sweet enough to stop by, otherwise you’d still be pecking off sparrows like a crazy-“

“Enough.” Castiel interrupted, Dean somehow almost forgetting he was there. “Terms; address them, or discontinue your game. We have little time to be wasting in your plane, so have your fun then be done with it.”

Dean turned slightly to catch a look at Castiel out of the corner of his vision, surprised at how bluntly and calmly he was taking everything. Not that the angel riled much; except at Dean, he thought proudly, but he was currently fairly diplomatic. The Trickster snorted a giggle in reply, and Dean felt his hackles rise again.

“What the hell do you mean by ‘getting on your nerves’, anyway?” He added.

“Dean…” Castiel warned.

“Ah, but you see, both demands have similar answers, my young padowans. Here’s the game, and these are the terms. The two of you are annoying the crap outta me, therefore, one of you has to go.” He paused, seemingly for dramatic effect, but neither of them said anything.

“…And you guys are gonna decide who.”

“Bullshit. Ain’t happening.” Dean said immediately. He started to raise the gun, but heard the cocking chambers of the weapons that were still trained on them from the cars. Dean pursed his lips.

“Oh ho, cocky aren’t we? I see death has done little to improve your sensibility. But it ain’t bullshit kid, it’s just business. My game IS my business, after all. So either you are going to tell me to kill your little angel pal there…or he’s gonna tell me to kill you. Easy cheesy. And I don’t mean the fake, bring you back the next day ‘kill’ we’ve been playing with, I mean the pushing up daisies kind. If neither of you offer up the other…well, then it looks like you’re gonna be playing for a bit.” 

“What, and watch you keep killing us day after day before bringing us back to do it again? Is that how this works?” Dean took a step forward, itching to misalign some of those perfect teeth…

“Basically? Sure, why not? I’m mixing it up just a bit, though, for shits and giggles. That, and you never know when I’m just gonna get bored and cut it all off for good, so don’t get used to it. I’ve got a goodie bag to play with this time, which means that the angel can get just as screwed as the human if you’re not paying attention. 

So rule number one; _PAY ATTENTION_. Then, there’s no fast healing, and no leaving. Trying to leave is gonna be a surefire way of getting your asses handed to you, either one of you, just so you know. Oh wait, you already do!” The Trickster grinned, glancing back over his shoulder as if he was expecting the peanut gallery to join in with his glee.

“Anywho, boys and…boys…that’s pretty much it! So, round one, any takers? Anyone? Someone wanna go first or do you want a running head start? Rock, paper, scissors?”

Dean glared down at the deceptively small man, refusing to look back at Castiel with a determined avoidance. He knew Cas wasn’t gonna do it, not yet anyway, but it was an unnerving feeling all the same. Castiel had a hell of a lot more to do than just babysit and deal with his sorry ass. That, and this was a fight between the importance of an angel versus a lowly human. If he really wanted to…

“Obviously, neither of us will be feeding into your sadism. Your terms are set, so leave.” And damn him for being so politically tactful. Dean sure hoped he knew what he was doing.

The Trickster shrugged again, wiping his hands together as if he’d just rinsed them off. “Suit yourself bucko, you’re the one who said you ain’t got the time. Cause you know, I’ve got all the time there is. So enjoy! I’ve done my homework this time, you can count on that. Oh, and Dean? You try getting Sam to come here? And he’ll be joining you, so I suggest you, ya know, don’t. Or do, if that floats your boat, whatevs. This is the only time I’m gonna show up when you… well, shoot at clouds, so don’t be expecting me at your beck and call. It just doesn’t work that way. Cheers!”

With that, he turned on his heel, adjusting his hat obnoxiously before turning his back on them and walking towards the cars. Dean felt a surge of panic sift through him, the only source of information they had was walking away when he didn’t feel like anything had really been said at all.

“Wait, you sonofabitch!” He called out, taking a few steps forward. The Trickster paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a raised and curious eyebrow.

“That can’t be it…it just can’t be. Who the hell pulls together something this involved when all they want is someone dead. No, no stupid games. It’s a ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ and it’s done. Not a set up house and roll camera. Not for something like you. There’s gotta be more than that…more to this fucking game, cause you coulda easily just blinked the both of us out of existence instead of all this elaborate shit. So what the fuck?” Dean hoped to God he hadn’t just given the crazy demi-god any ideas. “Is that really all there is?”

The Trickster glanced back and forth between the two of them and gave him a smirk that Dean couldn’t really read.

“Oh Dean, I always knew you were smarter than you looked.” But said nothing more, before turning back around and strolling away.

Dean raised his gun.

And maybe he really wasn’t smarter than he looked.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Something didn’t feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

He groaned, letting himself fall flat into the cheap bed and just lay there for a few minutes staring at the ancient clock. Eight in the morning, Saturday. He should start taking a tally. Not that it wouldn’t be any less depressing.

“That wasn’t really the wisest thing to do.”

Dean smirked, feeling the bed dip slightly on the opposite end. Like he didn’t know that already.

“Yeah, but I got a few shots off in his skull before I went down, so I feel better.” He grumbled, though not really feeling as proud of it as he should have. He did, after all, end up with a couple hammers to the chest in return. Stupid cops. Stupid Trickster.

“It would have made more sense if bullets could actually kill him.”

Ugh, stupid angel.

“That’s not the point.” Dean rolled himself upwards, feeling the room sway as the last bit of the previous day’s pain was fading. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t have to wake up to the phantom memory of it like it was still friggen there…or that he felt like he wasn’t getting much in the way of sleep in between. Hell, maybe he wasn’t. “You saying you wouldn’t have a problem with me shooting him in the back? Or the ass, now that’d be funny…”

“I would not argue that, no. I’m trapped here just as much as you are. The Trickster may be one of the old gods, but that doesn’t mean I would mourn his passing. Especially after this.”

Dean twisted around to face Castiel, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them as he took in the angel before him with a raised eyebrow.

“So what do we do now? I’m fresh outta lamb’s blood, and it’s not like he doesn’t know that song and dance already. The bastard is too good at his game to get caught.”

Castiel nodded, still looking absurdly calm with everything that was going on. Didn’t it bother him at all that he was stuck there? With Dean, of all people? The world was still technically out there, so was Heaven and Hell, he assumed, but no one else was repeating it all like they were. Come death or the next day, it didn’t matter who the hell they told it to, since it would all be forgotten by everyone.

Everyone, but them. Dean shivered.

“We have no choice but to play, but the rules aren’t strict. If the Trickster gets bored, he will concede.”

Dean licked his lips, nodding. So that was why Cas was so chill about the whole thing. Cause lying low and doing nothing meant boring for a demi-god. Fair nuff, but man, what a chore.

“You really wanna just do the whole vacay thing and pretend like none of this is happening? How the hell can you stand that?”

Castiel made eye contact with him, and it was always slightly more intimidating talking to him when he did that. Like it was the reminder to Dean that he was dealing with something otherworldly, regardless of how human he looked.

“Watching and waiting is what I do, Dean. I’ve done it for a very, very long time.”

Dean made a face. “Lame. Well, I’m more of an active participant than a watcher, thanks much. So I ain’t buyin it. The Trickster wouldn’t have a damn bit of interest in us unless there was something obvious we were missing. Something that he’s gonna trick us into just so he can get his rocks off about it and brag back at Asshole’s Anonymous. I still call bullshit.”

He pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his clothes as the thought occurred to him that he could probably call Sam to get his help. At the same time, though, and knowing his geek brother like he did, Sam would snag one of Bobby’s old clunkers and head straight for him if he knew. Not just because Dean was in trouble, but because he’d already learned firsthand the agony of what these kind of pranks could do. He’d see it as some kind of personal responsibility to be there, and Dean couldn’t have that.

Sammy didn’t deserve to go through it a second time. Especially since he had a good feeling that what lay ahead would soon have him once again in various, bloody pieces. This was going to _suck_.

“So…” Dean said finally, clearing his throat as he turned to see Castiel standing quietly by the window. “Breakfast?”

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The Trickster was not a fair player.

Dean had sort of known this, despite how little he actually remembered of his half year beat down back in Ohio. Still, he hadn’t really expected him to be so stiflingly unfair as he was until Dean was running as fast as he fucking could away from a horde of hungry zombies.

The first three weeks were pretty much like that. Whatever plans Cas had originally had of lying low and playing human fast becoming an idea of the past as Dean woke up one morning to the damn things crashing in through the front door. And windows. By the _hundreds_. 

Man, those fuckers could bite.

Day one was a mess, literally. It didn’t last long.

Day two had Dean rolling out of bed and going instantly for the weaponry after only a few seconds of that morning confusion, trying in vain to get Castiel to hold a shotgun before even he went down. 

Zombies weren’t demons, they didn’t stop if you stuck your palm on their foreheads, they ATE YOUR HAND. Dean had never seen the look before on Castiel’s face that he had that day, but he wasn’t soon to forget it. 

When the Trickster had said they’d both take damage, he’d meant it.

Day three was just as disgusting, especially since Dean had given up the option of shooting his way out and had simply vouched for fire first instead. Unfortunately, whatever cleaning agent the motel used was apparently _highly flammable_ , and went up faster than a hayfield in a dry spell. Dean had only ever felt that much heat in one other place, but he was determined to believe that Hell was nowhere near Norfolk, Nebraska.

Day four came and they finally made it out the front door with a combination of bullets and flames. From there, it was only a few steps further to absolute mayhem and horror. The Trickster had infected the entire fucking town, like it was some kind of freak video game or horror flick where they were the last fighting human and human-ish left at the end of days. The last living and breathing free meal when there were too many mouths to feed. 

And they weren’t the nice and slow kinda Romero zombies either, no, it had to be the fucking fast, running and screaming zombies from all the remakes. The ones that could come at you faster than a damn thoroughbred, even if they were missing feet, and take out your jugular in a few seconds flat.

Dean had never appreciated the fact that his fingers were still attached to his hands more than he did in those couple of weeks.

It wasn’t until day ten that Dean and Castiel finally made it out of a ‘civilized’ area and into the local park, where they tied off their wounds, brandished their weapons and tried to pull together some kind of contingency plan. What made it worse was that Dean knew trying to leave town meant instant death for either or both of them. So they’d need somewhere in the city itself to hole up if they wanted to make it to tomorrow’s Saturday without getting ripped to pieces. Dean had no problem taking out zombies, but there were so fucking _many_ of them that they kept running outta ammo while the horde was still coming.

Cas, for his part, didn’t seem to know what to make of this new revelation aside from doing what he apparently did best. Fall into line, pick up a weapon and fight til your wings fell off. Dean was starting to get used to shouting orders at him as the angel fired his own suggestions back just as quickly. And most of them were pretty good too. It was like a real, honest to god _war_ , complete with trenches and Zack in the trees.

Not that Dean was given all that much time to really contemplate exactly why Castiel was so willing to help through it all. He may not have been able to zap himself out of the city, but he could at least do the whole star trek thing and hide somewhere easily enough. The day would just reset if Dean got killed, but Castiel fought as if the thought just hadn’t occurred to him to do anything otherwise, or if he just…didn’t want to. 

But the onslaught was so chaotic and constant that there wasn’t much else for Dean to really ponder aside from _run, shoot, kill, RUN._

They finally holed themselves up in an empty library, aiming for it every day after that but only really making it there every other. Thankfully, Dean didn’t have to think about anything long term after that, aside from staying alive after dark. (which was _SO MUCH MORE FUN THAN DAYLIGHT, REALLY._ ) It was the only benefit of restarting after a day, since they wouldn’t really need provisions. 

Though it occurred to Dean he had stopped eating about a week ago. Just didn’t really have the time, and every morning reset him as if he’d eaten the previous day. It was weird.

Dean tried hard not to think of what was happening where Sam was. If the zombie thing was widespread, he hoped his brother and Bobby had given the damn things hell.

Day one of the zombie massacre had cut off all phone lines.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day fourteen, Dean realized he had lost count of how many times he’d died.

It wasn’t always him taking damage, but he knew he was going to outnumber Castiel regardless, since the angel had that whole ‘I can take a knife to the heart and giggle about it’ going for him. He didn’t have the quick healing, but his fortitude was a bit higher than Dean’s. Castiel could still take quite a bit of damage before ever having issues with pain or any conditions, but it soon became obvious that he _could_ feel it. Dean assumed that was the Trickster’s way of leveling the playing field.

How sweet of him.

At the same time, Dean had only actually seen Castiel completely _dead_ dead just the once. Every other time he’d either been too late to help when the angel got pummeled, or Cas was just so much of a bloody, mangled wreck that everything restarted anyway. 

Dean hadn’t seen that weird flash and burn thing with the wings happen again, but he was quietly grateful for that. There had been something about seeing the angel actually and truly die that had knocked something loose in Dean’s head, even if it had only been for a few minutes. He didn’t want to re-experience that, regardless of how many times he was getting ripped to shreds with an inequitable, mortal disadvantage. Wasn’t about to admit it either.

If Cas thought it was unfair, he didn’t say anything. And Dean really didn’t think it was, for some reason, so he didn’t say anything either.

It was around the cusp of that second week that Castiel was really catching on with how _not_ to alert the horde that they were there. Thankfully, he was a fast learner, and could bash in skulls like the best of em, but wasn’t used to hiding so much as standing at the front line. Which they seriously couldn’t afford to do, as it ended up being more hazardous to Dean than it was to him. By then, though, the angel was searching for safe ground just as much as Dean was, if only to keep his vessel in less pieces than he had previously. 

Or, if Dean really had a second to think about it, maybe to keep him just a little safer too.

On the other hand, Dean was more human than anyone else involved in The Game, so it was his ass that was going to get chewed on the most, no matter what. Literally. Fucking zombies.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day twenty, Dean opened his eyes to the sun shining in from the window, his retinas scalding almost immediately from the onslaught of light a half second before he was on his feet. Clothes and shoes were yanked on quickly as he heard the familiar sounds of Castiel quickly loading the weapons on the other side of the room, before Dean turned to catch the two that were tossed in his direction. All were cocked and ready to go without a single word spoken.

Thirty seconds after he’d gotten up from the bed, both Dean and Castiel had burst out of the motel room with a weapon in each hand, aiming in any and all directions they could see as they prepared to run.

Only to realize that there was nothing there.

Dean froze, his heart hammering in his chest as the faint memory-like dreams of the past three weeks were like a throbbing nightmare in the back of his mind. But there was nothing. Just the sound of cars passing on the nearby road, birds in the trees, people talking in another room; all normal, _living_ city noise. No screams, no moans, no nasty squishing, breaking, slurping, gurgling, crunching zombie soundtrack on a twenty-four-seven broadcast.

Dean jumped when he felt a hand on his arm, ready to start firing, or kicking, or flailing if he had to, only to realize it was Castiel. The angel’s eyes were wide, but he motioned silently with his head back towards the open door of the motel room. Dean took one more glance around before he nodded and they both went back inside without ever turning their backs on the outside world.

Once the door was closed, and locked, Dean kept on going until his back finally hit the far wall and he slid slowly to the floor. His eyes were still trained stubbornly on the unbroken windows and his hands still gripped tightly to his guns.

A minute passed in silence, Castiel standing closer to the window but holding just as tightly to the shotgun in his hands as he watched the parking lot through the curtain. It took a few minutes more of their heavy breathing, almost in sync, before Dean finally watched Castiel relax his shoulders, the gun angling downwards despite the fact that he didn’t really look like he was going to put it down.

It started out small, like he had the hiccups or something, and it made his whole upper body jerk once; then twice, and again. Dean felt the jerk again and again, a smile starting to curl up on one side as the jerk turned into a snicker and continued to become louder and more manic.

Castiel turned to look at him, staring with that weird look he had with the whole stupid head tilt as Dean finally took a moment to breathe. Something they hadn’t done for about three weeks straight.

“Aaaaaugh, what the _FUCK_!” Dean cried out suddenly, continuing to laugh. His chest started to ache as he banged his head a couple of times against the drywall until he felt light headed. Zombies, sweet fancy moses, they’d been fighting _zombies_ and getting their asses handed to them each and every day. So much so that they even had a damn routine every morning just so they could get out of the parking lot, let alone hope to make it to the library.

Dean let his guns fall to the floor with a clatter, burying his face in his hands for a moment as he let out a high pitched, part relieved part flabbergasted sound. He couldn’t decide whether it would be better to laugh or breathe. Finally he let his head fall back against the wall again and made eye contact with Castiel, bringing his hands up in utter defeat of any hope of trying to explain what the hell just happened. What had _been_ happening, nonstop before it all suddenly just…went away.

“Dude…What.The.Fuck. I’m starving. You hungry?”

And to his complete and utter disbelief, Castiel gave him a small smile and nodded.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The Trickster showed up randomly on that one peaceful day where both Dean and Castiel were sitting huddled in the diner booth like they’d just gotten out of prison. They’d already freaked out the waitress after nearly jumping out of their skins at her arrival (especially since Dean could recall shooting her in the head a couple of separate times), but were otherwise ignored. They were now strangers in a strange land, just waiting for the next bomb to go off. Dean felt like he couldn’t predict anything anymore.

But the Trickster had seemed delighted, watching their faces intently and judging them in a way that made Dean want to start shooting him all over again. Castiel didn’t look too far from that option either, even if it didn’t really do any good.

He’d asked them who he was there to drop from The Game, but they both told him to go screw himself. Castiel far more eloquently than Dean, of course. Although, Dean was more than happy to spell it out for him, at length, for about as long as he’d been throwing the two of them to the zombie horde. It was only fair.

The Trickster, however, didn’t seem all that bothered by their refusal. Encouraged, even. He gave them an odd grin before nodding with an exaggerated sigh of his acceptance than disappeared.

Dean really didn’t know what to think anymore, but that was _not_ how somebody acted when they wanted another person dead.

But they’d gotten through round one.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Round two started the next day. Day twenty-two.

Dean woke to the sound of his phone ringing, along with the damn sun that seemed relentless in making him blind first thing in the morning. He rolled sideways, still trying to keep himself from freaking the fuck out and going straight for the weapons after the near-month of zombie park fun-time. But there was no horde coming in through the door or windows, and Castiel was once again stationed in his morning corner of the room, staring at him.

Always staring at him.

Dean got up and pulled the phone from his jacket, stretching his arms as he realized it was Sam. He felt a warmth fill him that he hadn’t realized he was missing after the endless days of constant fear and pain. It felt like it had been ages since he’d last spoken to or seen his brother, even though for Sam, it would still only have been one.

“Hey!” He answered, a happiness in his tone that surprised him.

_”Dean! Where are you!?”_

Now that stopped him short, giving him enough pause to hesitate in his answer.

“What? Dude, I’m in Norfolk, remember? Nebraska?” He glanced back over his shoulder at Castiel, who was standing by the half covered window and peering out. His expression was unreadable. The external light was a hell of lot dimmer than it had been before and he was cast in half-shadow.

_”Still?! Are you serious? Get the hell outta there man!”_

Now that was a comforting sentence. Dean couldn’t have said it better himself. Christ, if it was more zombies he was just gonna throw in the damn towel and vote himself off the planet.

“What? Why?” Maybe there was something on the news about it? Wasn’t like he’d had the time to…

“Dean.” 

Castiel’s voice grabbed his attention as the angel motioned with his eyes toward the window. Dean took a quick breath, a sudden and seemingly random flash of light illuminating through the curtain that took him by surprise as he walked over. The anxious feeling in his gut doubled as he realized that what had once been sunlight was now covered completely by a deep shade of darkening grey. A deep rumbling shook the foundations of the room they stood in as thunder cracked across the sky.

Dean’s eyes widened. So, this was new.

In all the time he’d been repeating that Saturday, even with the damn zombies, not once had the weather ever changed. Always bright sunny days in a mid Nebraska sky above a minefield of flesh eating undead. He glanced at Castiel, the two sharing a look that read about the same as they both knew better than to think it was just some ordinary storm.

_“Dean?! DEAN!”_

Dean startled, suddenly recalling what he was holding and why.

“Yeah.” He answered quickly, eyes still watching the darkening world outside. It was making everything seem just a bit more claustrophobic than it already was, and the wind was picking up fast.

_“Dude, are you ok? They’ve got a million warnings issued for the entire state, why the hell are you still there? Bobby says they’re even evacuating!”_

Dean swallowed, unblinking eyes still focused on this new revelation of what was to come. So the Trickster thought he could blow them out with the rain? Seriously? Dean was from _Kansas_ for God’s sake.

“Hey, it’s…it’s not so bad, Sam, don’t worry. I’m ridin it out with Cas, and you know how he is. All mother hen and shit, I’ll be fine. I ain’t scared of gettin wet.” His voice was calm and amused, shrouded for the sake of his brother. He was too good at doing it.

_”It’s not the rain I’m worried about Dean. You’re in the middle of a freak hurricane!”_

“WHAT?” Dean finally tore his eyes from the outside world, moving to get to his shoes with a great big ‘just in case’ running through his head. “We’re in the middle of the continent! That’s not even fucking possible!”

But it was, really. Just as possible as zombies coming in through the woodwork. As possible as a constantly repeating day where he could recall being killed in about fifteen different ways, at least. Of course it was possible. Bring on the end of days, sure, why not?

“Sam…Sam, I gotta go, but listen…”

_”I’m coming to get you Dean. I don’t know how, but I will…”_

“NO!” Dean cried out, freezing in place, trying to think about what kind of weapons would be best to have on him while talking to Sam at the same time. His chest hurt and he closed his eyes, shutting out the world for a second to think. “No, Sam, you know me, I’ll get the hell outta dodge and meet you, ok? I’ll meet you tonight, me and Cas, then we’ll figure this shit out. Seal be damned.”

It was a lie, but Dean refused to look at Castiel as he said it. There was no point.

_”Ok…ok, but go now, I’m so not kidding. Call me as soon as-“_

With an angry hiss, the phone went dead.

Dean heard the air raid siren start to blare in the distance just as a tree came in through the front window.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Sam called every morning after the daily hurricane started, torturing Dean as he had to lie to his little brother each time just to get him to stay where he was.

Castiel never commented while he was on the phone.

The storm was horrendous, powerful and unyielding. After the first couple of minutes of peace, first thing in the morning, everything went to hell from there on out and didn’t quit until someone had either been killed, really massively hurt, or they’d actually gotten to the end of the day. 

Dean wasn’t sure which option was the worst. 

There was _no one_ there, as Sam had said, the entire place had been evacuated, leaving them alone to fend for themselves in a deserted ghost town under an onslaught of Mother Nature.

The whole hurricane thing really made no sense though, since they were nowhere near an ocean, but the Trickster was manipulating as he saw fit. They were drowned rats after an hour, trying to find safety each day when nothing seemed to be strong or safe enough to protect them from rain, wind, or debris. Typically, debris was the worst.

Staying in the motel had ended with Dean being crushed to death. Making it to the car was something of a small victory, but the poor Impala didn’t make it more than a mile before it was blown into a spinning frenzy, nearly smashing in their skulls in the process before dumping them in the river. 

Drowning was now around the top of the list of death’s Dean hated more than any others.

They went by foot after that, walking at about a forty-five degree angle in the painful, pelting rain and clinging to anything grounded for as long as they could. It was all a vain attempt in finding something underground, but everything flooded in the first few hours of each day. There was no respite, no moment to figure something out, just rain and chaos and death consistently in a never ending cycle.

The only time Dean ever had to speak at all to Castiel was when he first woke up, and even then, they both knew the day would be so grim and exhausting, that barely anything was ever said. Just that phone conversation with Sam, and then it was all downhill from there.

Dean couldn’t recall how long it had been since he was dry for more than a half an hour. Or how long since he’d eaten. He knew starving to death was the least of his concerns though, when Castiel tried to save him from being impaled by flying, hundred mile per hour fence posts.

He just wasn’t fast enough.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

By day thirty three, Dean woke up to the sound of his phone, but he didn’t answer it. Instead, he canceled the call and sent a quick text to Sam letting him know he wasn’t in Nebraska and that he’d meet him later. That it was all ok, and to stay put. Then he hurled the phone against the wall and it shattered into about fifty pieces.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly after the calm resettled. The room was darkening, Dean’s pants lying on the chair nearby and his shoes by the door. He should have had them on by then.

“What for?” He heard Castiel ask, his deep voice carefully neutral.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a breath. “If you weren’t in charge of me…if you didn’t have to keep me alive for this damn war…then you coulda been outta here a month ago.” He said bitterly, finally moving to pull on his clothes and get ready for the onslaught to begin. Thunder rumbled and the flashing lighting was becoming more insistent. “Your orders won’t let you tell the Trickster to off me, will they? Your superiors? I’m no use to them dead.”

There was silence behind him as Dean felt his chest clench and his throat tighten. He was exhausted, each day becoming more and more wearing on them as they went. The previous Saturday had ended with the roof of a convenient store caving in on them, practically cutting Castiel in half as he’d tried to get Dean out of the worst of it before collapse. Dean had taken a few broken bones in the process and he ached with the memory of it.

He stood to get to his shoes, their safe time already past as the rain was violently pelting against the motel window with horizontal streaks of grey misery. Dean stopped in his tracks, however, as the look on Castiel’s face gave him pause. The angel was staring at him, as he usually did, but his expression was different this time. It was almost mournful, but only because Dean knew him so well by then. To anyone else, Castiel probably looked as apathetic as a doll. 

“I wouldn’t know what my superiors think of this situation, seeing as I cannot hear them in this place.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known that.

“You can’t…but what about when you tried to zap out of here?”

Castiel shook his head. “The memories of my brothers are the same as the people in this city. The same as your brother. The information I give them nulls after the day ends me.”

Dean shuddered internally. That was a pleasant thought. He licked his lips, hearing the siren start to wail from miles away outside. It never failed to creep him out. “So they can’t even tell you to leave me and go keep saving the world?”

“You really think that’s why I have not agreed to kill you?” Castiel asked him, right before the windows suddenly crashed inward, and it all began again. 

Dean had such a horrendous day after that, he forgot what Castiel had asked him.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day thirty four, Dean opened his eyes to the sight of the blinding sunlight from outside, but not the sound of his phone.

The storm was gone.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The Trickster showed up again, randomly, while the two were standing in the middle of a park and waiting for the sky to fall on them at any moment. He was dressed casually and in a trench coat, with almost a mockery of what Castiel was wearing actually, and was sitting idly on a park bench feeding birds.

There were a slew of jokes Dean could have rattled off at that one, but none seemed to go from head to tongue quick enough. He was starting to think that the Trickster was forcing him to be sleep deprived, just to make it all worse.

“Great weather today, eh boys?” The Trickster asked playfully, keeping his eyes on the birds and what he was doing. Castiel appeared as neutral as usual, but Dean could tell that he was just as agitated as he was. The damn angel was just better at hiding it.

“Stop this.” Dean stated simply, his fists balling at his sides. “There’s no point to it. Nothing to be won, no goal to be met, just torture until one of us cracks and asks you to kill someone. It ain’t happenin, no matter how bad you treat us, so _stop this_!” Dean seethed, barely able to keep from pummeling the crap out of the powerful creature in front of him.

The Trickster finally turned to look at them, and though the day had reset itself, Dean was sure they looked pretty bad off even without the battle damage.

“You think _that_ was torture? Seriously?! I’m insulted! Weren’t you in Hell? Didn’t you go through, like, half a century of shit that was the worst possible pain imaginable? Are you _actually_ comparing this to that kind of suffering? Really?”

Dean visibly blanched, feeling all the color drain out of his face without even meaning to think about it. He couldn’t come up with anything to say in reply.

“We are not puppets, and we are not toys to break and discard.” Castiel interrupted. “If there is something you are trying to gain from this excursion, I suggest you simply get it done with and stop waiting for us to make the decision for you.” Castiel had stepped in almost immediately after Dean started to see fuzz around the edges of his vision, giving him the moment he needed to breathe and work past the initial anxiety that memories served him. The Trickster really did know what buttons he needed to push to get to them, and it irritated the hell out of Dean that he couldn’t reciprocate.

And as much as he didn’t want to be the one offed by the game, he actually agreed with Castiel. 

The Trickster, however, didn’t seem like he was intimidated in the slightest by Castiel’s demands. By either of theirs, actually. In fact, he looked amused by them.

“You guys are breakin my heart. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?”

With that, he disappeared, leaving nothing more than two frustrated men and a sidewalk full of pigeons.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

But Dean _didn’t_ hate Castiel. Not really. He wasn’t sure if it had always been that way, or if he’d just gotten so used to the angel being there anyway that he just got over it. He’d helped Dean more times than he could think of, had been a bit annoying most other times, but it wasn’t like he went out of his way to make their lives miserable. Hell, he’d even stopped that asshole Uriel from laying a finger on Sam…so yeah, Dean really didn’t hate him.

Once he actually had a second to think about it too, there was a lot of trust that had been building between them. Especially recently. There was nothing like being hunkered down in a flooding trench trying desperately to avoid drowning, to get two people to depend on one another. 

Not once had Castiel ever shown any sign of leaving him on his own, but then, doing his disappearing act led him straight to certain death. So maybe it wasn’t just being there for Dean’s sake so much as just…avoiding the alternative.

Dean tried not to think about it after that. There was something that made his stomach clench when he thought about the idea of being trapped in that damn repeating Saturday completely on his own.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Round three started on day thirty five. 

Dean was starting to wonder why he was even keeping track.

Whatever the Trickster had originally had in mind with making the days repeat seemed to have very little to do with what he was putting them through, aside from the fact that it was annoying. It could have been a repeating week and it would’ve made no difference, but then, since it was in his power to do so, Dean just assumed he did it all for the hell of it anyway.

He was getting used to it, unfortunately, and while it was slowly settling into him of just how out of his league he was meant to be, Castiel was just as equally getting more agitated. 

It wasn’t an obvious agitation, seeing as the next round seemed to be starting out as something far more subtle than the two previous, but Dean could tell that Castiel was reaching his limit. The guy was so damn stoic. So sure that if they just refused to give in to what the Trickster demanded of them, he would just let them both walk away, but the plan didn’t seem to be working.

He was sure that, as an angel, Castiel had probably been privy to far worse supernatural creatures than that demi-god, but then, it wasn’t like he’d been on Earth in the last few millennia (or so he claimed).

Dean wasn’t sure if a pissed off Castiel was actually a good thing or not in their situation.

On the one hand, there was a possibility of some holy angel awesome power of smiting. If he still had it, that is, after being limited by the Trickster. On the other, how good would it really do? If Castiel zapped himself away in anger, he got slaughtered. If he went all heavenly justice on the place, Dean wasn’t sure he’d walk out of there with skin.

But Castiel was quiet, as meticulous as usual and unwilling to offer much in the way of a solution to their problem. Dean dragged him to the library the first chance he got, tagged with the assignment of looking up as much about Tricksters as they could find. Castiel didn’t seem too thrilled on the idea, but it wasn’t like they had much else to do aside from wait to see what was coming next.

And the rest of the world just continued to repeat itself around them.

“I am a resource in and of itself, Dean. I can tell you whatever you wish to know of them, but that will still do nothing to alter our situation.” Castiel stated seriously, standing in the middle of the county library looking like he was there to do his taxes. Dean rolled his eyes.

“That’s not the point. And you can’t honestly tell me that you know _everything_ there is to know. There’s gotta be something that somebody knows or knew or discovered at some point that can turn their own game back on them…”

“This is his playing field. His universe and rules. Do you honestly believe that he would have allowed that kind of information to be at our disposal?”

Dean glared at Castiel, yanking out a book despite what he was saying and clunking it down on the table.

“Man, you are in a pissy friggen mood today. Who spat in your cheerios?”

If Dean didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn that Castiel’s face had gone a slightly pinker shade then usual as he’d looked to the ground in response. Dean wasn’t really sure what to make of that.

Not that he was given much time to, since the moment he opened his mouth to ask, there was a loud shattering of glass that came from the front of the building. The two met eyes for a second when the screams started, and Dean yanked the gun out from the back of his jeans as they ran towards the stairs in unison.

It was hard to see at first, considering the many layers of shelving that were blocking their view of the front doors, but Dean could tell that it was something big and something fast. It went from the front to the center of the library in seconds, igniting screams of terror throughout the large room and crashing things to the ground left and right.

Dean was down the stairs first, his gun level with his eye as he tried to follow the path of destruction even as people were darting in front of him. Castiel had flanked him the moment he hit carpet, something they’d gotten into the habit of doing with the whole zombie fiasco, and Dean found it strangely reassuring. It wasn’t like the trust he had with his brother, not by a long shot, but it was something that seemed just as important to have obtained.

Ignoring the nagging sensation in the back of his mind that he should run while he can, Dean pushed forward, trying in vain to see around the bookshelves and catch sight of whatever new monster had appeared. There was screaming everywhere, and an angry growling that was deep throated and menacing. Something animalistic, maybe?

He glanced to Castiel, who motioned towards the left before nodding at Dean. He was going to circle the opposite side. Dean agreed silently and they split, each taking a different corner of the library to meet in the middle. Castiel had no weapon, but he wasn’t always in need of one, the lucky bastard.

Unfortunately though, it seemed as though the Trickster really was gunning more for Dean than anyone else involved in his stupid game. As Dean rounded the first corner, he came face to face with an eye full of something he really hadn’t expected to see.

A werewolf. In a library, in the middle of the fucking afternoon, on a day that Dean was fairly sure wasn’t a part of the full moon lunar cycle. What the hell!?

The beast lunged the moment it caught sight of him, and Dean started firing at the same time. He knew it wasn’t going to do much good, seeing as the bullets he was packing didn’t have a damn bit of silver in them, but there wasn’t much else he could do. After six shots, he bolted backwards, but the thing was way too damn fast, and it had him in seconds.

Dean cried out as he hit the ground and lost his gun, hearing his name called from behind him just as there was a piercing pain in his left shoulder that made his vision go white. He cursed and writhed, arching beneath the beast’s meaty claws that were holding him forcefully in place as its nails dug through flesh. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, fingers dragging uselessly into the carpet as the teeth only seemed to push deeper into him with each passing second.

Dean forced his eyes open, suddenly unable to breath or hear or speak much of anything. His sight was filled with oil slick fur and disjointed limbs. Bloody bits were matted into the shoulder of a creature that didn’t look like it had ever been human to begin with. This wasn’t the kinda werewolf he was used to. More like the ones he’d seen in movies that would make him and his father laugh. The fake, puppet or CGI looking things, only far scarier than it had ever been on screen.

Then just as suddenly as it came, the pressure released, and there was a blinding white light that made the creature scream in surprise and agony above him. Dean watched it burn to a crisp before he finally pulled in a well-needed lungful of air and slumped back to the ground. His eyes closed.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

When Dean was conscious again, it wasn’t the next day. Or…the next same day. Whatever. The whole repeating thing was really starting to get on his nerves.

He was back on the bed in their motel room, and there was a lamp on in the corner, but there was no sunlight coming from around the drawn curtains.

Dean groaned, trying to shift himself before realizing that his left side was heavily bandaged and so inflamed that movement alone made him see stars. He closed his eyes with a grimace, still trying to find some semblance of counter balance enough to sit up, but it was a losing battle. What was the deal with the thing attacking and not killing him? Wasn’t that the Trickster’s big game right now?

But then, Dean had accused him of torturing them, so he assumed the stupid god thing was trying to make up for missed accusations.

There was a gentle hand on his forehead that coaxed him back down to the pillow, and Dean unfortunately couldn’t help but comply. He opened his eyes to find Castiel standing over top of him, his concerned gaze focused on Dean alone in a way that made him feel self-conscious. Why was it that Castiel’s full attention could always do that to him?

“Ow.” He hissed out with a slow breath of air. After all he’d been through so far, a stupid bite shoulda just been a walk in the park.

“Your injuries aren’t as bad as they may feel.” He said softly, and Dean realized that he was sitting on the edge of the bed directly beside him. Had he been there the whole time?

“I think I can beg to differ.” Dean mumbled, his throat scratchy as he licked his dry lips.

“A werewolf bite is infectious and unsanitary, but you know that already. It is going through you like poison. Unfortunate only for our situation, the creature did not accost you with the intent to kill.” Castiel’s hand moved away from his forehead and Dean had to force himself not to complain aloud of its absence. Though he wasn’t sure where _that_ feeling came from.

“Lucky me.” Dean grumbled.

Dean closed his eyes and took in a breath before forcing himself upwards to a sitting position, almost losing his balance and his lunch all in one swing. Thankfully, Castiel caught him before he kept going, but Dean wasn’t about to voice his gratitude as he pushed himself away from helping hands as soon as he could. He wasn’t gonna be a girl about it, damnit.

“Ugh…shit, this blows.” He cringed, his good hand moving to the bandaged left shoulder. At least it looked like Castiel had finally learned how to bandage something properly. The guy’s learning curve was pretty damn astounding. “So the Trickster’s graduated from death to suffering, awesome. Wanna do me a favor and just cap me one so I don’t have to deal with this for the rest of the day?”

It was a joke, and not even a very good one, but there was a look that passed over Castiel’s expression that was hard for Dean to read. That same, strange look he got whenever Dean leapt to the conclusion that there would be little love lost if he kicked the bucket for good. Which was weird, cause really…why the hell would he care in the long run? Dean was his mission and his responsibility, but that was all.

“If I did that, then I would win the game by default. It defeats the purpose of refusing him.”

Which was a good point, actually.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I always seem to be the one taking it for the team here anyway. First zombies, then crazy freak hurricanes, and now werewolves? Gee, I wonder what kinda movies this asshole watches to keep himself entertained.” Dean complained, twisting himself to the side so that his feet could dangle off the bed. His head spun with the movement and it throbbed from his shoulder all the way down to his knees.

He was cut up pretty bad as well, on both sides, but it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. At least this time it was only for a day, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be another romp through Turner Classic Movies the next Saturday. Dean was damn well gonna be sure he packed some silver bullets from then on out.

“At least we’re far enough into the day to make it through the rest without a problem…” Dean groaned again, hissing as he moved his shoulder around to test mobility. He stopped, however, when Castiel didn’t say anything.

“Cas? wasup?”

Castiel was looking at him seriously, which wasn’t all that unusual, but this was a bit more serious than normal.

“The Trickster would not have set a werewolf on you for no reason, Dean. He is a manipulator of space and time, his games motivated by action and reaction.”

“Yeah…duh…and?” Dean pursued, getting slightly irritated with the holier than thou vagueness he thought they’d gotten past.

“And…tonight will be a full moon.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Castiel incredulously.

“Wait…wait, how the hell do you know?!”

“There would be no purpose to the attack otherwise. He is predictable only in this way, so it serves to reason that…”

“I don’t give a shit about what you think you can or can’t predict. There was already a full moon this month, smartass. I hope you’re goin for a bad attempt at a joke, cause that really isn’t funny!”

“I am not joking.” Castiel stood to his feet, shadowing him so quickly that just for a second, an image flashed across Dean’s vision of being pushed backwards with the angel over top of him. Dean blinked, jolting himself back to awareness as his eyes followed Castiel to where he’d actually gone, which was over to the window. _What the fuck had that been?_ And why the hell did it leave a warm sensation in his gut that made him want to start clawing at the fabric beneath his fingers?

Werewolf venom sucked.

Castiel pulled the curtain aside, and just over top of the trees in the distance, Dean could very plainly see the glowing orange of a rising full moon. He stared at it unblinkingly, fingers curling into fists as he tried to reason with himself why this all couldn’t possibly be any worse than the things he’d gone through so far.

But he really couldn’t come up with anything.

Dean stood to his feet wordlessly, his vision swimming as he swayed after the first two steps, but he refused to let gravity or vertigo do anything to stop him. He made a direct line straight to the weapons on the opposite side of the room, moving with his good arm to shuffle through them until he found what he was looking for.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel was at his side almost immediately.

“Stop.”

“Fuck you.” Dean spat bitterly. “I’m not gonna play like this. I’m not gonna kill other people just so he can get his jolly rocks off, and I sure as hell am not gonna deal with this every fucking day for the next who knows how long.” He moved his other hand to assist him, grunting as pain flared up his arm, but he persisted regardless.

Four, five, six silver shots were loaded into his gun before he snapped it into place and released the safety. But Castiel’s hand suddenly clamped over his before he had a chance to reach for the trigger.

“We don’t know how suicide works with the rules, I can’t let you do this.”

“Then don’t fucking look!” Dean yanked backwards, but Castiel held firm. “What the hell else do you think is gonna happen, Cas? What was the game plan here after I…after-…“ His chest tightened, and it ached suddenly with the revulsion of his reality. “Those aren’t zombies out there anymore, they’re _people_!”

“People who will be alive and well when today repeats itself again.”

“ _That doesn’t make it ok!_ ”

In a single, harsh yank, Castiel pulled the gun from Dean’s fingers with a strength that he kept forgetting the stupid angel had. Dean reached for it as it went, but stopped with a gasp as pain flared up his entire side and left him breathless. He fell forward without meaning to, but instead of going to the floor, Castiel was just _there_ instead, taking the brunt of his weight as he sagged into him. 

He was furious, angry at his own damn weakness and the inability to do anything about what was happening to them. It wasn’t just the damn werewolf thing. It was being trapped there, being away from Sam, being pulled from what was important to stand around uselessly instead and get maimed by everything under the sun. It was being at the will of a creature that didn’t give a shit about his toys as he crashed them together. Dean was stuck there with an angel; a fucking _angel_ , and still there wasn’t a damn thing they could do to get out of that godforsaken city.

And all Castiel had to do was give the word and he was once again banished from existence. Dean didn’t even stand a chance.

Whatever allusions they’d had about sucking it up til the Trickster got bored were getting harder and harder to stomach when he had the unfair advantage of pushing all the damn buttons.

“No, it does not make it ok.” Castiel said, much softer this time and Dean could hear his words rumble through the shoulder that he was pressed against. “But killing yourself will not solve this.”

Dean pushed himself backwards, slower this time, so that he could stand precariously on his own two feet, eyeing the gun in Castiel’s hands before meeting his intense gaze.

“I won’t live as a monster. I don’t care if it’s only for a few hours, I won’t do it.”

“You will make an exception today. And I will prevent you from leaving.” Castiel said it so matter of fact that it gave Dean pause. He narrowed his eyes, contemplating just how hard it would be to wrestle that gun back when half of him was barely functioning. The angel was cruel sometimes, vague with his words and sometimes a bit anal about the truth, but from all that Dean experienced so far, he wasn’t a liar.

Not yet, at least.

There was something carnal inside of him that approved of the way Castiel was telling him how things were going to go, but Dean ignored it with the assumption that werewolf venom just made you stupid. Or horny. (Like there was a difference). 

“Promise me. Swear it, or hand me back that gun right now. If there’s even a chance of me getting out and killing someone, you do what you have to to stop me.”

“I promise, Dean.” No hesitation.

He pursed his lips and swallowed, his knees shaking beneath him as the pain only seemed to be getting worse. It was one of his worst fears brought to life, like a nightmare that was so real you just couldn’t shake yourself awake from it.

“I could hurt you.” Dean wasn’t sure why that was important, but brain to mouth function wasn’t really processing. He was so fucking tired.

Castiel shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips before it was gone. “Yes, you could, but not like this.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, but there was too much to ask and too little time to ask it. The next thing he knew, he was doubled over in the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt above ground, and he lost track of everything else around him.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

He remembered the smell of blood, but Dean was pretty sure it was his own. His senses were acutely aware of things that human senses just didn’t find all that interesting. Thought process was reduced to minimal survival instincts and nothing more. Dean didn’t even recognize his own name.

But even with the short and scattered memories that were more flashes of images than anything, there was no screaming, no bloodshed and no one was hurt but him. And holy shit was that all sorts of hurting…

He wasn’t sure how Castiel did it, but he kept his promise. Dean never once left the motel room. 

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

By the next day, they had an understanding. Because Dean was beginning to comprehend what Castiel had explained to him about the Trickster’s predictability. It was going to happen, regardless, but he wasn’t alone to deal with it. Unlike Sam, Dean was far more lucky in that someone else could remember the previous repeated day like he could.

Dean wasn’t sure how Sam had gotten through it all without snapping entirely.  
Damn, but he missed his brother.

Whatever Castiel may have gone through the previous Saturday night, he made no mention of it, and of course showed no signs in the morning if he had ever been injured. Dean still felt guilty, and didn’t like the idea that he was doing something out of his control, but it was better than the alternative. 

No matter what they did that day or where they went, the damn thing found him.

He was carrying around silver bullets on a daily basis, and sometimes, got a lucky enough shot off that it took the fucking thing down quick, but that was few and far between and always only after he’d been bit first. By the time Dean recognized the signs of attack, it was already too late. Walking around with his gun pulled was unnecessary attention for the rest of the day, and even if they stayed holed up somewhere, the damn thing had him on a homing beacon or something. The fucking Trickster knew where they were at all times, therefore, his creations did too, so Dean didn’t even stand a chance.

The one time he was able to get a lucky shot before the thing was gnawing on him was a moment where neither he nor Castiel knew what to do. They kinda just looked at each other for a victorious minute of respite before the second beast had come out of nowhere and literally ripped a hole straight through the angel’s back.

Dean had snapped, his vision going red with the memories of the death of his brother and the image of Castiel in front of him, staring down at himself in shock before falling to the ground.

The second attack was far more deadly than the first. It wasn’t an intention to bite so much as it was to kill, and Castiel wasn’t even given the option of transformation before the day reset. All before he did that crazy burn his wings into carpet and soul into oblivion thing, thankgod, but still bad enough to make a point. So Dean got it. It was either he deal with it himself, or Cas gets maimed in his stead. Awesome. And not even up for debate. 

He stopped carrying silver after that.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

By day forty seven, Dean started to wonder if the Trickster was running out of patience with them.

The round with the werewolves seemed to last forever, but seeing as Castiel was far more in control of that situation than any of the other ones they’d been thrown in, it wasn’t as bad.

Of course, Dean was still tearing his skin off by night, and having his bones restructure themselves with enough of a nauseating sight that it probably would have made Sam pass out. (As funny as _that_ would’ve been. There was far too little funny lately). Although Castiel never mentioned what went on in the evenings after he changed, Dean had a feeling that he was taking his own fair share of damage at the same time. He knew he didn’t blame Dean at all, but that didn’t really help much.

If Dean had thought it was all going to be permanent, not even Castiel would keep him away from that gun.

On that sunny morning, however, as Dean opened his eyes with the lingering ghost of aches and pains shivering through him, his phone rang. Dean sat up slowly, glancing at the angel in the corner (always in that corner) before he stood and walked over towards his jacket to retrieve his phone.

It was Sam, and it was getting dark outside.

It was a hurricane that day. The next had zombies pouring in through their windows. Then again after that. Dean wasn’t sure which one was worse, but the zombies were pretty high up on the sucktastic list. 

Day fifty brought the return of the storms while the following was peaceful up until the werewolf practically mowed Dean down in the street, completely out of nowhere. 

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Right when Dean was starting to think he’d run out of new ideas, the next day the Trickster set the city on fire.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever quite get that smell out of his nostrils or the smoke out of his lungs.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day seventy, he possessed everyone with demons.

He also manipulated the rules of his playground so that Castiel could get possessed too. Dean had never rattled off latin so fast in his life. Hadn’t even realized he’d taken it to memory, really.

He’d never done a homemade tattoo before either, but worked as quick as he could to get some kind of protection on Castiel after they’d buried themselves into the basement of a high school. It was the first time he’d seen the angel willingly without a shirt, and he was surprisingly more muscular than Dean thought he’d be.

“Does this hurt? I mean, can you feel it at all?” He asked as he pushed a bit more ink into Castiel’s skin with the needle-thin blade and the ransacked package of pens he’d scavenged from upstairs. Dean was more than prepared with an arsenal of stop-bein-a-pussy jokes if the angel squirmed.

Castiel shook his head. “I can feel it, but it does not hurt. Not in the way you would know pain.”

Dean smirked. “Well that must be nice.”

“I haven’t much to compare it to, having never been human, but it is uncomfortable, to say the least.” Castiel didn’t move at all as the blade continued to pierce into his pale skin. Dean carefully wiped the blood away, taking in a slow breath as he tried to ignore the screams from above them. A small patch of sunlight streaming in was their only light source, but it was enough. He didn’t dare turn on the lights.

But it was the first peaceful moment they’d had in a while, and Dean found that he was grateful for that.

“Yeah, well, count your blessings. The rest of us mere mortals get the package deal.” He grumbled, nearly finished with the first half of the star on Castiel’s arm.

Castiel turned to look at him with his usual, calm expression, but there was something else there as well.

“Be careful what you envy, Dean.” He said softly.

Dean blinked. “Huh?”

“Pain may be the worst of what reminds a human being that they are alive, but it is a reminder nevertheless.”

Dean licked his lips and nodded, moving his focus back to the angel’s arm as he continued his work. A few moments of silence passed.

“What makes you feel alive then? As an angel?”

“Faith. Purpose. A sense of duty.”

Dean grinned, snuffing out a small breath of air through his nose. “Humans have that too, y’know.”

“True. But there is a difference. You use them as a method of encouragement. A drive in which to aspire to something greater, if you wish. Or not. Angels have no choice.”

“But an angel can choose to toss their faith, right? Isn’t that what Anna did?”

“In a way, but we are lost without it.”

Dean finished the final curve of the circle around Castiel’s tattoo, moving to the second half of the star. The sun was going to set soon, so he needed to finish while there was still light. He wiped off more of Castiel’s blood.

“We really aren’t all that different.” He said casually, biting his lower lip in concentration as he worked. “So if you can’t feel pain, does that mean that you can’t feel other stuff too?”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t feel it, I just said it was different. What else are you referring to?”

Dean swallowed. “Oh, I dunno, like, cold, heat, getting wet, touch…” He trailed off, refusing to look anywhere but at the inked wound in front of him. There was a beat of silence where Dean wasn’t sure if either of them were breathing.

“Yes, I can feel all of those things, if I choose to.”

“Do you ever do it on purpose then? Like, turn on the switch to feel something more?”

Castiel regarded him for a contemplative moment, but he didn’t look annoyed. Just thoughtful. “Sometimes. Human sensations are difficult to resist.”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Damn right they are. So what’d you do?”

“Hardly something to your standards, I expect. Things you would take for granted that are second nature to you, such as standing in the rain. Feeling the texture of cloth, fur or skin. It has been a very long time since I’ve been here, but it makes sense to understand these things in order to understand you.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean swallowed, trying not to think about Castiel feeling skin. “How’s that going for you so far?”

“It is…educational. Although, you have proven to be far more difficult to understand than most.”

“Hey, low blow. Just cause you don’t get me doesn’t make it my fault. it’s not like you ever asked. Anyway, I happen to be an expert on human senses if you really wanna learn something.” Dean’s trademark grin appeared as if on instinct, though he wasn’t really even sure what the fuck he was saying anymore.

“I will keep that in mind.”

Dean finished the final part of the tattoo, suddenly proud of his work as he tried to ignore the way that Castiel’s voice had changed slightly with the last thing he’d spoken. He cleaned the wound as much as he could, making sure that there wasn’t a single break in the line that one of those bastards could sneak into. It almost made him sad that all his work wouldn’t be there the following Saturday morning, but he’d do it again if he had to.

“Finished. Congrats on your very first tat, Cas.” He flashed a grin as Castiel lifted his arm and inspected it.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“No sweat, man. I’ll bill ya for a drink or something after the apocalypse.” He joked, glad for the change of subject as he shook off his cramping hands and swiped them together.

Castiel smiled his little half smile, and Dean couldn’t help returning it, despite the screams and bloodshed they could hear above. Apparently, these demons didn’t really get along with one another…

“After the _threat_ of the apocalypse has passed, I will gladly get that drink for you.”

“Score. Drinks it is.”

It was the first conversation they’d had that seemed casual. Something shared between friends more than just associates. Dean slapped a hand on Castiel’s back before he glanced over his shoulder towards their dwindling light source. If his hand lingered on the angel’s skin longer than it should have, Castiel made no attempt to remove it.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

They woke up freezing the next morning to nuclear winter. Now _that_ had been a fun day.

Then back to the fucking zombies.

By day seventy four, Dean missed his brother more than he could put to words. 

But it was day seventy five where everything changed.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The werewolf attacked in the afternoon that time, taking a chunk out of Dean’s side before Castiel took it down on the edge of the practically deserted highway where they’d been walking. 

They did that a lot lately, that walking thing. As much as Dean loved his car, it was depressing to think that he’d never be able to get her onto the interstate without the possibility of seeing her torn to bits. So he and Castiel walked, at least, whenever they weren’t being chased down by something. But there wasn’t much in the way of conversation, even at peaceful times. Neither one really knew what to say anymore that would do any good, and they just weren’t the small talk type.

It was growing more and more awkward each day, however, but Dean wasn’t really sure why. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but something lingered in the air between them like a weight that he just couldn’t see. There was something he was missing, but Castiel didn’t say whether or not he felt it too. 

It was bad enough that they were starting to get used to the daily schedules of nearly everyone else in town, apocalyptic happenstances notwithstanding. But Dean was beginning to realize that he didn’t really care what the people in that town were doing so much as he did with what Castiel was doing. Or thinking.

And that was just weird.

What was different about this particular attack was that the transformation didn’t wait for the full moon; or even for the sun to go down. Bloody and hurting on the street, Dean felt the familiar, horrifying feelings of the change almost immediately, but couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. He’d stared at Castiel in terror, willing the angel to do something, to stop him somehow, but what could he do?

Dean was going to kill people; it was in the nature of a werewolf to do, after all, regardless of the person within. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t think, there was only blood on his mind along with a terrible hunger that refused to be ignored.

His memories stopped there.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

When Dean opened his eyes again (and how come he was the one always being unconscious, anyway) the first thing he recognized was the fuzzy, yet discernable sight of trees above him. He was on his back on the ground, feeling like he’d gotten run over by a fucking train which had then put itself into reverse and gone back to hit him again.

But then he realized he wasn’t breathing, so he forced his aching lungs to take in a painful, exaggerated breath of air as his limbs shook and throbbed from the effort alone. What the hell had just happened?

His vision went blurry again, but when he finally focused, he realized that Castiel was sitting beside him, a gun held tightly in his white knuckled hands. He was torn up all to hell, a large scratch bleeding openly down his face along with bloody clothes that looked like he’d just run out of a slasher flick. He was staring down at Dean in shock, lips parted but no sound coming out. It was oddly disconcerting to see him that way, as Dean was more used to the familiar stone-face than this kind of emotion. It suddenly had him more concerned than anything else he’d seen so far.

“Cas?” He practically whispered, his throat feeling as wretched as the rest of him. That seemed to be enough to shake Castiel back to the land of the living, however, as he moved to kneel closer beside Dean and reach for him slowly with shaking hands. It was like he was afraid to touch him, but not in the dangerous kind of sense. Like Castiel would hurt Dean instead of the other way around. _What the fuck?!_

“What…W-what happened?” Dean ground out, trying to move but giving up halfway. He was just too damn exhausted to get anywhere but where he was. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

Had the worst finally happened? Had he killed someone?

“What d-…did I do?” Because he knew Castiel wouldn’t lie to him.

But the angel shook his head, still staring at him like he was a damn ghost, or worse.

“You did nothing.” He said finally, with a voice that sounded about as stable as he looked. “It was not your fault, Dean. The Trickster…he changed the rules. He…it was the middle of the day, we were not someplace safe, I…” Castiel didn’t seem to be able to finish, but Dean wasn’t having it. With whatever strength he could pull together, and a painful cry of protest, he pulled himself to at least a sitting position. The world was spinning, but sitting up was good. Castiel had helped him, seemingly unable to put distance between them, but his hands didn’t move from Dean’s arms afterwards.

“What? What happened?” Dean asked again, and watched Castiel lick his lips with trepidation, the words were _right there_ , but somehow hard for him to say. How was that possible? He was damn fearless, this angel. Half of the shit that got thrown at them couldn’t even kill him, so what was he afraid of?

“You…I promised you. And I kept my promise.” Castiel’s eyes moved from him down to the gun still clutched in his hand like a manacle on his wrist.

And then Dean understood the rest.

“I killed you. I _killed_ you. You were dead. And the day…it did not reset. It didn’t start over as it always has before.” There was something manic about the look on Castiel’s face. He didn’t seem able to process what had just happened, and Dean was starting to wonder if he was finally seeing the angel break. But it was no great revelation, no towering righteousness that could deafen the likes of the Trickster enough to release them.

It didn’t sound like salvation. It sounded more like shattering glass.

“Cas…I’m ok.” Dean wasn’t sure just how truthful that was, but he was alive. He wasn’t bleeding from anywhere he could see aside from the obvious wound on his side from the bite, and he could breathe, maybe eventually stand…

Anything else Dean could have taken stock of was lost as he felt warm fingers on his cheek. It grabbed his attention almost immediately, eyes moving to Castiel’s that were a mere breath away from his own and filled with so much hurt that it ached for him to see it so close. He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t hear anything around them, could barely feel the forest floor beneath him. All he saw was Castiel.

“You’re ok.” It was all Castiel said before he suddenly closed the distance between them. Their lips met, and Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, his body stiffening before he relaxed a second later without even thinking about it. Another hand moved to frame his jaw, holding him there, and it all became more feverish; desperate. Like Castiel wished for nothing more than to breathe the life back into him and keep it there. Dean responded, fingers hovering over Castiel’s arms but never really touching. All that he seemed able to do in return was allow it to happen.

Something in the back of his head seemed to click into place as he did, like this was something he should have seen coming and that all the signs were there but he’d been too clueless or distracted to notice. Castiel had been distraught, yes, but distraught friends didn’t do this. Distraught enemies did it even less, let alone enjoyed it.

It didn’t last long; hardly long enough for Dean to figure out what to do or decide whether or not it was something he _could_ do without suddenly getting burned from existence. It felt so comfortable and familiar that he knew he didn’t want Castiel to pull away, but the kiss ended just as quickly as it started. Dean was dazed, his lips left parted from the absence as his eyes reopened and he could do nothing but stare incomprehensibly at Castiel.

But instead of whatever expression Dean had been expecting to see (if he even had), the angel looked even more stricken than he had before.

Castiel suddenly fell backwards on his hands, scooting himself away from Dean as he shook his head, never once unlocking their eyes.

“I didn’t…” He stopped before moving a hand to his face, fingers touching lips, and it only occurred to Dean then that he might be thinking he’d done something wrong.

Had he?

“Cas, wait…wait a sec…” Dean’s mouth was ten steps ahead of him, but as he reached out towards Castiel…

The day reset.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

Dean opened his eyes, sunlight pouring in from the window of the motel room and scorching his retinas just as it did every morning. Same bleached sheets, same dry smell. Same fucking Saturday morning.

It took him a second for everything to come flooding back to him. _Blood, pain, terror, gun, forest, warm hands, warm lips, Castiel._ Dean turned and sat up so quickly it made his head spin.

Castiel was standing there as always, looking confused for a moment before his eyes moved to Dean’s and understanding dawned there. He pursed his lips, but remained as annoyingly neutral as he’d always been.

At least, as he’d always been _before_.

“Why’d the day reset?” Dean asked rhetorically, shifting himself to the side of the bed so that his feet touched the floor. He rubbed his eyes, trying hard to be as nonchalant as he possibly could. Not that he was really any good at it.

Castiel said nothing, choosing instead to stare out the sun bleached window. Dean swallowed before he took a deep breath. Damnit, like it hadn’t been awkward enough before.

“Cas, listen…I-”

“How are you feeling?”

Dean paused abruptly, still looking at the angel despite the fact that the courtesy wasn’t returned.

“I’m fine, thanks.” He replied with just the slightest bit of irritation. “And you? The stoic, untouchable angel of the friggen lord, how’s your day going?” It was what Dean did best, lashing out at what he couldn’t make sense of.

Castiel didn’t answer, turning around and heading towards the table of guns with a blank expression. “We should get ready for the day, if the Trickster is changing the rules, then-“

“For fuck’s sake, Cas. Don’t _do_ that!” Dean pushed forcefully down on the mattress and stood to his feet, aggravation building as they danced around the subject like it was an elephant in the middle of the room. He took a few steps toward Castiel, who finally decided to look at him. His face was completely blank.

“Don’t do what?”

Dean fumed. “THAT. Stop it. Quit acting like nothing just happened because it damn well did. I can understand why you’re freaked out, ok? But you can’t just not say anything about it!”

Castiel’s eyes flickered, something otherworldly passing through them that made Dean’s breath catch. It was the first sign that something was shifting loose in Castiel’s demeanor, and Dean wasn’t sure where that would end.

“Your hypocrisy never ceases to amaze me. How would you like me to express myself when clearly it is something I do not wish to discuss. You chide me on my silence; you who keeps your emotions and fears solidly locked away from anyone who’d ask them of you, and you think I am the one who is standoffish?”

Dean stared with wide eyes, unable to answer for a brief second before he felt the blood rush to his head, his fingers tingling. “Are you turning this back on me? Is that seriously what you’re doing?”

“No, that’s not-“

“Cause what the fuck does me having problems talking about _Hell_ have to do with you having problems talking about kissing me?”

Castiel didn’t reply, his expression becoming more and more wary.

“Why did you kiss me, Cas?” Dean filled the silence with the unasked question, forcing it out in the open.

“I’m not comparing-“

“Why. Did. You. Kiss. Me.” Dean punctuated each word, as he took a step forward, leaving barely a foot between them and getting in Castiel’s space.

Still Castiel said nothing, staring at Dean with that intense gaze that, any other day, would have made Dean uncomfortable. But now Dean knew; there was a hell of lot more going on underneath that mask than what he’d originally judged. At least, he hoped there was. Forcing it out of him probably wasn’t helping, but then, Dean really was a hypocrite.

“Are you being told to mess with me? Is that it?” Dean tried another tactic, hoping beyond hope it wasn’t the truth. But it wasn’t possible for angels to care for humans, right? Like, not in the _care for_ kinda way that involved human emotions. That just didn’t happen.

Castiel’s gaze sharpened with alarm. “No. I would never do that to you.”

And that was an odd enough admittance in and of its own, if not a cryptic one.

“So what, then? Did the Trickster make you do it? Is that why you’re embarrassed, cause it was out of your control?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand, Cas! Explain this to me! Cause up until that moment, I’d have sworn that another month of this shit would have you pointing a finger at me and telling me I’d lost the game!”

Castiel’s eyes widened, his lips parting for a moment as if he’d meant to say something, but nothing came out. It was true enough, at least, that Dean had assumed he was of lesser importance surviving than the angel, but he wasn’t sure just how serious his fears were. Castiel licked his lips after a moment, swallowing hard and trying to restore his fading stoicism. 

“I do not wish you dead.”

“Not yet, right?”

“Not ever!” And the stone-face cracked so simply that Dean almost missed it. Castiel’s voice had risen in a way that was so achingly human that Dean almost felt for a second like he was arguing with one. He didn’t say anything in return, but he didn’t have to. Castiel’s floodgate had burst.

“I know this creature far better than you _ever_ will, and that includes the knowledge that this game can end at any time. Any time, Dean! I have no power over him, I can’t control what he does or who he kills, and he seems bound and determined that I continue to watch you die, regardless if I want it to happen or not!”

Dean should have thought better than to retort. He should have sat back for a second and really listened to what Castiel was telling him, but Dean, being Dean, didn’t contemplate things he couldn’t understand. No, he wasn’t like Sam, which is why the two balanced so well. Instead of diplomacy, Dean attacked.

“So what do you call that, then? Taking what you can before the chance is gone? Messing with me so that tomorrow can just repeat like it never happened?!”

“You misunderstand me.”

“Jesus, then spell it out! This is one big circle of getting nowhere! What the fuck are you afraid of ? It’s not like you have much to worry about much with all of this shit, and it was all made just a little painfully clear to me at the beginning that I was the one that was going to get hurt the most here!” In more ways than being run-through and chewed on, it seemed.

“It’s not that easy…”

“Yes it is. Sometimes, it really is that easy. Just tell me why, that’s all I wanna know. If you were completely in your power to control yourself, then why are we arguing over this?”

Castiel didn’t answer, and that just made it all worse. Dean felt his stomach hollow out the longer the silence stretched on. But Castiel seemed no more closer to giving him an answer then Dean was to figuring it all out. 

If he’d done it for the typical reasons, if Castiel actually, honest to god cared for him, admitting it should have been easy for him. He was a fucking angel, what did he have to worry about? It’s not like Dean had really been shoving him away at the time anyway.

If he’d done it just to fuck with him…well…

“Fine. Whatever, don’t tell me anything then.” Dean practically spat, his lip curling as he turned away from Castiel and walked back toward his clothes. It hadn’t really occurred to him until then that he was still in his sleep shirt, but it was just Cas. Damnitall, _it was just Castiel_.

“Dean…”

“Unless that sentence is gonna explain to me what the fuck is going on with you, just do me a favor and go someplace else.” He said as he collected his things. No messages from Sam, so it wasn’t a storm day. There’d been no zombies, and no screaming so far… Dean tried as hard as he could to distract himself.

“I have nowhere else to go.” Castiel’s voice sounded strange, but Dean was still too angry to acknowledge it.

“You sure about that?” Dean snapped, and regretted it the second it came out. He turned a moment later, forcing himself to say otherwise, but the space that Castiel had once stood was now empty. Dean had dared him to disappear, and he had, probably straight into a bloody battlefield.

Dean let his arms drop to his sides, the fabric slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor.

_Damnit._

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

“It’s damn funny if you ask me.” 

Dean scowled, wanting very much to plunge his fork into the Trickster’s hand as the demi-god reached forward and plucked a fry from his plate. It was bad enough he’d showed up at the diner to begin with, let alone be his all knowing, untouchable self in Dean’s presence.

Especially when he was on his own.

“Piss off. You don’t know a damn bit about it.” Dean snarled, ready to start swinging at a moment’s notice. The Trickster just grinned.

“You two are better than cable. You shoulda seen your faces…but, well. All over now, huh.”

And wasn’t that just twisting the knife, gee thanks.

“Go away.”

“All too soon, you’ll wish I was sticking around. It looks to me like your little pet cherub would rather be out getting his ass handed to him than face you, so methinks you might be figuring the rest of this out with the good ol one ‘n only from here. Not that that would bother a strong and independent hunter like you, am I right?” The Trickster snuck another fry before Dean could stab him, a glint in his eye that made him want to scream. And so what if Castiel needed a break? He’d worked himself up so much that he’d damn near shattered and, well… did something he probably regretted.

Dean wondered if it was possible to be numb from the chest down and still walk correctly.

“I said piss off. Let me eat in peace.” He grumbled, trying not to care one way or the other. “If there were any sheep in this fucking town, you’da been dead weeks ago.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you that one for a second. Wow, who’da thunk it though, eh?”

“What?” Dean almost didn’t want to know.

“That angels would have such rotten taste!” He laughed with a sly grin. Dean scowled again.

“Get fucked, asshole.”

“Oh, but seriously now, who knew they could be so…well, human, am I right? It amazes me how damn righteous they are when, in the end, everything is about basic needs. I love this species, I swear…”

“Is that the point of the ant farm, then? Is that why we’re stuck here in your fucking science experiment? So you can tear me to pieces and psycho-torture him?! What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” Dean smashed a hand down on the table as if to punctuate his words. It grabbed the attention of others around him, but he didn’t really care.

The Trickster sat back for a silent moment and gave him a knowing look, making Dean feel uncomfortable as he felt like he was surveyed from the inside out.

“A word of advice, kid. You may want to take into consideration the fact that I’m not the kind of god that does things randomly or for no reason. Just because angel boy is getting chewed on by the raging minions of Hell right now, doesn’t mean the game is over.”

Dean felt his chest tighten and his fingers clenched on the edge of the table.

“I’m not gonna wish him dead. I don’t care how long it takes you to get that through your ugly, asshat skull, cause it ain’t happenin!” And Dean knew he meant it. Whether Castiel decided he’d had enough was up to him, but he wasn’t changing his mind.

Especially now that he knew the things he did. Now that he’d seen what he hadn’t before.

The Trickster snickered, moving to settle back in his seat with his hands folding behind his head.

“Fantastic! Then welcome to the final, not-so-sudden death match round, Dean-o my boy. Let’s see if…well, if you’ve got the stomach for it.” And with a flash, he was gone. As if no one had been sitting there to begin with.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

An hour later, Dean made his way back to the motel in the hopes that Castiel might think it a safer place to be than a fucking battlefield. Possibly with the intention to apologize if he needed to, but certainly to make amends in some way.

But he wasn’t there, and Dean was starting to feel sick.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

The sick feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it started to get worse. Dean made it all the way to the evening before he finally couldn’t take it anymore and rid himself of everything he’d eaten that day. He wasn’t sure whether it was nerves or maybe something bad that didn’t want to go through his system, but he felt a hell of a lot better when it was gone.

He went to bed hungry, wondering why he was still in one piece.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

It wasn’t until day eighty that Dean realized just how badly he was screwed.

The world around him was normal, peaceful and repetitive. No zombies, no storms, no freak monsters or snow, just everyday people doing what they did on a Saturday. Dean knew everyone that was staying in the motel. Knew the owner’s names and which room they’d use to screw around. He knew everyone at the diner; the waitresses that were easy to flirt with and the ones who’d just as soon spit in your food. He knew the librarians, and everyone else who happened to be coming in that Saturday to study or find a good book. He knew the liquor store guy, the convenience store chick, most of the families that went for Saturday brunch at the church, the fucking paperboy.

Dean was starting to learn every single one of them, but after the end of each day, not a damn one knew him in return. He was practically invisible.

It should have been mindlessly boring, and really, it kinda was, but the Trickster hadn’t completely let him off the hook. Just because Castiel was avoiding him didn’t mean that the games had ended, just as he’d said. Once again, he was focusing completely on just how badly he could screw with Dean, and bad wasn’t even the half of it.

Dean kept getting sick whenever he ate. It didn’t seem to matter what it was, so he just got to the point that he avoided it as opposed to the alternative of it just coming right back up. He didn’t think much of this at first, considering how long he’d gone through the whole zombie thing without food, as it didn’t seem necessary. What he’d had on the long forgotten Friday worked just fine, a day without food wasn’t going to kill him. (Though it sucked to high hell, Dean just loved food too damn much).

It wasn’t until he got up on day eighty and pulled on his pants, just like every other day, that it occurred to him that they didn’t fit. The jeans that had once snugly fit around his waist were now sliding down his hips. Dean cinched his belt, unsure why it was now a few holes in from his usual spot, but thinking that maybe he was just being fucked with. Whatever.

Castiel still kept disappearing every single morning without so much as a word. Dean wondered how he was surviving out there every day, and why he really considered it better to face a painful death than him. The days weren’t restarting, so he wondered if Castiel was just fighting like mad to get through them. He’d picked a hell of a time to actually start listening to what Dean said.

Stupid angel. Stupid, good kissing, warm and concerned angel. _Fuck._

Dean would have been drinking more if the damn stuff would just stay down.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

By day eighty five, Dean had to cinch his belt even further. His pants practically bunching around his hips and his t-shirt loose across his stomach. Dean had cursed at the feeling, yanking the shirt off again and walking into the motel bathroom in order to see what the fuck was going on. He knew himself so well, had been proud of the body his father had taught him to maintain and was deceptively strong beneath the many layers he usually wore.

But on the opposite side of that mirror stood a man who looked like he hadn’t had a decent meal in months. His arms were smaller, the muscle slowly disappearing along with the definition down his chest and abdomen. His face had thinned out considerably and he could see his collar bone far more prominently than he could before.

Dean stared at himself in horror, unable to process what he was seeing. What the fuck had happened? It was definitely something new, but it wasn’t sudden, seeing as he’d recognized only a week ago that he was different. He just didn’t realize how _wrong_ it was. Whatever had been repeating previously with his metabolism was now out of the quotient entirely. 

Injuries reset, his life reset, the day fucking reset, but now the rest of him was apparently remembering just as much as his head was. His stomach must have been empty for awhile now, but he just hadn’t noticed.

How the fuck hadn’t he noticed that?!

Dean pulled his shirt back on slowly, his eyes moving to the corner of the room, where Castiel should have been, before he looked away again. No, this wasn’t something he could get help with. If the angel wanted to get his ass kicked in redemption for who-the-fuck-knows-what, then he could do as he damn well pleased. He was on his own for this.

Although, once he’d thought about it, Dean realized that he didn’t regret that kiss like Castiel seemed to. He wasn’t really sure why, but it hadn’t seemed wrong. Hadn’t seemed so far outta left field than he might’ve thought before. Looking back, that really hadn’t been the kind of kiss you gave someone in order to just fuck with them.

The more he thought about it, the more he missed him. And was damn well pissed off that Castiel couldn’t grow the balls enough to face him.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day ninety, the first of the complications started. Then it was a snowball effect from there.

It didn’t help that Dean’s clothes barely fit him anymore. His skinny arms and torso swimming inside his t-shirt and his pants had to be tied up with a piece of spare rope. Not even his ring would stay on any longer and Dean had to put it in his pocket if he wanted to have it on him. It reminded him of how Sam had once looked when he’d hit that crazy growth spurt in high school. 

Every morning he went to the diner, hoping beyond hope that something he ate would stay down, but it never did. Didn’t matter what he ordered, after a few hours of being sick, he may as well not have eaten at all. But stubborn persistence was part of the Winchester genetics. Dean was tired of seeing more and more of his ribs every day.

“Well hey there, sugar, what can I get for ya? You look like someone in need of a decent meal.” Dean’s favorite waitress said to him for the tenth day in a row.

“Mornin Alice, biggest stack of carb-filled pancakes you guys got and some coffee please. Black as it gets.” Dean gave the best smile he could muster, every inch of him exhausted despite the fact that he’d done very little lately. It was like all of his energy was being sapped out the same time the bulk of him was.

“I’ll have that up for ya quick, hon, but how’d you know my name?” The young woman had asked pleasantly, as always, but with a hint of confusion. She wasn’t wearing a nametag.

“Cause you look like an Alice. And thanks, watch out for that slippery floor on your way back, huh?”

The waitress had walked away from him with her confusion outweighing her smile, but never with enough to seem angry or suspicious of him. She just wasn’t the type. Though she kept her eyes on him as she walked, and it never failed to distract her from slipping right in front of the doors to the kitchen and smacking into another waitress in the process.

Dean had tried not mentioning the floor to her on other days, but it was nearly the same result. All paths led to the same destination, it seemed. 

He stretched his arms, feeling the ache that was all the way down to his bones that were starting to be visible almost everywhere on him. He felt like he was a victim of AIDS, or leprosy for fuck’s sake. Like every day was just another few hours of dawning realization that led to slow death. Dean had no allusions thinking that the Trickster wasn’t going to eventually kill him off this way, but it was an anxious mystery as to whether or not he’d wake up the day after.

Would Castiel tell Sam what happened then? Or would he just go home?

Dean stood to his feet, shaking the thought from his head and distracting himself with song lyrics. It was the only thing keeping him sane lately.

Unfortunately, however, it looked like Dean’s unwilling starvation was finally taking its toll.

He fell to his knees after only a few steps, Dean’s vision swimming in and out of focus as black spots flashed before him. Everything hurt, and it was getting difficult to breathe.

Dean’s arms felt sluggish, but he moved one hand to grip at his chest, fingers wrapping around the necklace and loose fabric as he felt the outline of his sternum beneath it. His wrists were bony, his legs so thin they looked like they’d snap like twigs if he’d fallen any harder, and it was really starting to get terrifying. 

His anxiety soared to new heights and Dean wished with all of his being that he wasn’t on his own.

He felt hands on him, saw the glimpses of worried faces around him, but didn’t have much more strength than to do that.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

When the world came back to Dean, he really wished it would just go away.

He was in a hospital. Something he could tell immediately considering his long standing history of being all too familiar with them. The bed was a normal size, but it was practically swallowing his lithe frame along with twenty pounds of blankets that still left him shivering.

There were so many tubes coming out of him, though, that he couldn’t really tell what was what. The saline was obvious; the others, not so much. Just because Dean had been in the hospital too many times didn’t mean he had a fucking med degree. 

He wanted really badly to get out of that damn bed, but gravity and his own, useless body seemed to be the only things stopping him. Neither of them were cooperating.

“Afternoon, Mr. Hammett. I’m Dr. Sable. How’re you feeling?”

The voice made him jump and the world spun for a minute before Dean could focus on the older woman that entered the room, a clipboard in hand. At least she’d cleared up for him what ID he’d been carrying.

“Peachy.” Dean grumbled, irritated at both the scrupulation and the nausea that rolled through him. “In fact, I think I’m feelin pretty damn good, so if you can just hook me up with some discharge papers, I will be happy to get out of your-“

“Not so fast, Dean is it? You’re severely dehydrated, and I doubt you’ll get much further than that doorway on your own two feet. I’m not sure what made you think you could go for two months eating and drinking so little, but it should be obvious at this point what the outcome is.”

Dean stared at the woman, her ashy brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and her eyes staring down at him sternly through narrow rimmed glasses. He glared right back at her, his anger boiling up in his chest.

“Wait…you think I did this on _purpose_?”

The doctor crossed her arms over her chest, the clipboard still in one hand.

“Unless you were kidnapped and tied up in someone’s basement or lost at sea? Then yeah, I don’t see much alternative. You don’t sound like you’re mentally handicapped, though I could be wrong, and there was money in your wallet, so you’re perfectly capable of feeding yourself. We’ve found no health irregularities aside from what you’re doing to your heart with such rapid weight loss, and from the damage to the inside of your mouth, it’s pretty straightforward that what you actually have been eating hasn’t been allowed to digest. Am I missing anything?”

Dean cursed internally, wondering why his luck always seemed to end the way it did. He would get the one smart and proactive doctor in a hospital where there were hundreds of others who had better things to do than an intervention.

He shook his head. “Lady, you haven’t a damn clue. And what do you mean two months?! It hasn’t been…”

Dean trailed off in confusion. It had barely been two weeks, hadn’t it?

“I’m going to refer you to our psychiatric department for further evaluation, Dean, as soon as we get you strong again. Trust me, this is for your own good and I’m only trying to help. The kind of damage we’re seeing is something that only long term deprivation can do.”

“Fuck that. I’d be eating if I fucking _could_ , I’m not some goddamn wrist-slitting homecoming queen!” Dean seethed, turning himself to the side in an attempt to roll out of the bed. The doctor caught him, but he struggled, once again feeling the ache of panic that didn’t seem to be lessening in the slightest. Where was Castiel when he needed him? Did he know what was going on? Or did he leave so suddenly each morning that he couldn’t see what was happening to him?

Would it even matter now if he did?

Hands pushed him down, but Dean fought. Restless and hurting and bitter, he raged against the restraint knowing he barely had the strength to stand anymore.

Then he felt his heart suddenly speed up tremendously, a pain racing down his left arm that pierced like fire and agony all at once. Dean cried out until he didn’t have breath any longer.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Dean stared into the morning sunlight from the motel room bed, but didn’t look away this time. His eyes burned, but his memories were becoming more and more clear than the previous days.

He curled an arm in front of him, staring at the empty skin and bones that he didn’t recognize, but not really knowing who he could fight any longer.

The corner of the room was empty.

Dean pulled himself upwards, dizziness and nausea already part of his morning routine before he walked gingerly over to his coat and pulled out his phone. The t-shirt he wore would have fit two of him. The slim fitting shorts were baggy and barely staying in place. He sat back down on the bed, and stared out at the rising sun as he opened his phone and dialed.

It rang three times before it picked up.  
 _”Sup?”_

Dean took in a staggered breath.

“Heya Sammy.” It was lame, but he couldn’t think of anything better to say.

_“Uh…hey? Sup man, you sound rough, you been drinkin? I didn’t think I’d hear from you til tomorrow dude.”_

“Yeah, well, I’m just full of awesome surprises.” Dean wiped a hand down his face, barely able to keep his eyes open. He felt like he could just crawl back under the covers and sleep for a month. Fucking Trickster.

_“Ok…so…was there a point to this call? Or do you really just miss me that much?”_

If Dean had been a weaker man, he probably would have cried.

“Ha, like that’s gonna happen. How’s Bobby?”

_”Usual, poring through manuscripts like a damn prophet. I tell you though, Dean, we haven’t found much. You wouldn’t happen to have heard from Castiel have you?”_

Dean swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Uh, yeah, actually. He mentioned a book you guys should look up. The, uh…the Sefer Razzle Hemlock…or something like that.”

He smiled as he heard that message relayed, the bark of laughter on the other end calming his nerves more than anything else he’d heard recently. It was good to hear Sam laugh, even if it was making fun of him.

“See, that’s why I leave the geeking to the geeks. Have at it college boy.” He let the grin linger before it faded from his expression. Hell, even that was a tiring experience. There was silence on the other end and for a second, Dean thought he’d lost the connection.

“Sam?”

_”You sure you’re ok, Dean? You really sound kinda weird.”_

Dean licked his lips, clearing his throat. “Yeah, well, you sound like an eighty year old woman on the phone, so what’m I supposed to make of that?”

_”Seriously, dude. If you need me there, I can totally-“_

“No, no Sammy, s’ok.” Dean interrupted quickly. Though probably too quickly.

There was some muffled shuffling on the other end, and Dean assumed it was probably Sam moving away from anywhere he could be overheard. Damn kid knew him too well.

_”What’s goin on Dean?_

So much for pretending it was all ok. Dean sighed, making the decision without even debating on it.  
“Ok, so maybe I was drinking just a little too much last night, s’all.” He said, with as much amusement as he could lace his words with. “You’d be surprised how much of a party town this part of Nebraska gets when the sun goes down. Some crazy shit. I’d say you should get your ass down here, but I know how much of a prude you can be…”

_”Dean…”_

“Oh, so last night…say, do you remember when we were in high school and I told you that story about why I like guys just as much as chicks?”

_”Augh, ok,_ OK _! Never mind, I don’t need that image again, thanks. I just…you sure you’re ok?”_

Dean’s fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Sammy…I-“

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Dean opened his eyes again, jolting backwards as the horrible déjà vu feeling lingered at such an abrupt restart. There was no phone in his hands and he was already a minute into the next day with barely a half an hour through the previous.

What the hell?

“Cas?” Dean called, but there was only silence in reply. The only thing he could think of, was that Castiel had gotten himself killed right off the bat. Either of their deaths could reset a day, and Dean had had his first in awhile after giving himself a heart attack. He wondered what Castiel had thought about that when it happened. Whether he wondered why Dean had been killed, or if he was ultimately trying to avoid Norfolk just as much as he was avoiding Dean.

Dean was really starting to want to kick his own ass. Or Castiel’s, if that would get the message across.

He spent the rest of the morning trying to keep himself hydrated along with ordering food to the room. Keeping something down was a priority, so he took it just a little bit at a time along with working on his strength. The city was going to stay the same regardless, but Dean wasn’t gonna just fade into it like a damn pussy. He’d fight until he couldn’t anymore, hell or high water.

It never failed though, at the beginning of that evening, Dean got sick again and heaved until there was more than nothing left. He cursed louder and longer than he had in awhile, but no one was around to hear it.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

To make matters worse, whatever had changed on Castiel’s end was starting to get more deadly.

Dean would barely make it through an afternoon before the day would reset. Not from something he’d done, but more obviously, something with the angel. The poor guy wasn’t fighting so much anymore than he was being slaughtered, and Dean couldn’t even help him if he’d wanted to.

Which he kinda did want to.

Castiel had helped him fight his battles, so why couldn’t Dean return the favor? He really wasn’t mad at the guy anymore (mostly). That had all been petty, chickflick crap anyway. Just something else to add to Dean’s list of not-so-smart moments.

Dean’s argument for helping out, however, was soon left to the wayside when he started to realize just how detrimental it was to him when the days went faster. He lost weight regardless. Even if the day reset itself, his body still looked like he’d gone an entire twenty four hours without food or water. There was nothing he could do about it.

Absolutely nothing.

Was the Trickster going to bring him back after he literally died of starvation, or was this it? He’d said it was the final round, but had he just been messing with him? It could be round seventeen for all he knew.

For four days straight after that, up to day ninety, according to Dean’s count, Castiel continued to get himself involved in something every day to get his ass killed just after noon. 

Dean was finding it harder and harder to stand, but he persisted in at least drinking whenever he could. He paid the delivery guys a whole lot extra to bring him Gatorade and protein bars, anything he could fucking get his hands on that had some kind of electrolytes or something. On the plus side, he didn’t make it long enough in the day to throw it all back up during Castiel’s suicidal streak, but Dean wasn’t sure how much of a difference it was making.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day ninety five, Dean had cracked and called his brother again. He couldn’t help it, he needed to hear someone that wasn’t speaking out of the fucking television.

_“The Trickster? Are you serious?”_

Dean didn’t know how long it was going to take for Castiel to lose it on his end, so he figured talking to Sam about it five hours away wouldn’t make much difference.

“Pretty damn.” Dean had answered wearily. “I look like a fucking anorexic, man. This seriously blows.”

_”Why the fuck is he starving you to death? That’s so weird to picture, especially since it’s only been a day since I’ve seen you…”_

But Sam knew better, Dean could tell by his voice. He’d already been dragged through it and knew _exactly_ how it worked.

_“Is there a way I can help you?”_

“Not really, dude, unless you know of another way to kill a demi-god. Thanks though.” He’d already told him what would happen if he came there, despite Sam insisting that he should be there anyway. It was a moot argument, and Dean didn’t rise to it.

_”How many days have you gone through?”_

Dean snorted. “Ugh, too fucking many. You shoulda seen the zombies man…I don’t think I’ll ever get over that…”

_”Isn’t Castiel helping you?”_

Dean paused, taking in a slow breath. He shivered and balled himself tighter beneath the motel blankets. The heat was already on the whole way, he just couldn’t get himself warm.

_”Dean?”_

“Yeah, he, uh…he’s got his own problems at the moment. Doing as much as he can, I guess.” So much for the bout of honesty. Not that Castiel could have done much for him now anyway. What was he going to do? Make him keep his burgers down?

_”You do realize I’m on my way there, right?_

“I kinda figured. It’s not gonna matter though, Saturday’s gonna reset again before you even get here.” Dean glanced at the clock, it was almost one in the afternoon. He was starting to feel sick already.

_”I don’t fucking care, I’ll beat it again if I have to. I’m bringing every weapon Bobby could spare and we’re gonna get you out of there and onto a milkshake diet if it kills me-“_

The phone cut off.

Dean glanced at it wearily, wishing he had the strength enough to throw it across the room. Even with Sam on a rampage towards him, Dean doubted the Trickster would even let him into the state, let alone close enough to help.

“Where the _fuck_ are you?!” He cried out to the empty room, unsure who he was actually asking to appear. Maybe the Trickster, so he could just get it all over with. Maybe his brother, so he wouldn’t feel so goddamn lonely and bad for himself.

Or maybe for Castiel. Because he’d given up kidding himself and realized he actually kinda liked the sonofabitch and wished he’d come back.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

On day ninety eight, Dean couldn’t get himself out of the bed.

He’d tried as hard as he could, but there was nothing to support him. Hell, he could barely breathe with just the weight of his ribs on his lungs. Which was fucked up, really, the more he thought about it. Dean considered calling his brother again, but thought better of it after he remembered that the phone was on the other side of the room. Fucking figured.

It was infuriating, and far worse to deal with than the zombies and storms had ever been. Being sick wasn’t something that strength or firepower could fight, especially the kinda sick that was debilitating like this was. Dean was furious at the entire fucking world, but hell if he could express much of it. He was like a fucking old man who was stuck in his deathbed, wasting away and just waiting for the day to end.

And how maddeningly depressing was that?

Dean opened his eyes to the bright sunlight, after once again getting cut off from the possibility of a full day and getting food in him. He wasn’t even sure how much he weighed anymore, but he doubted it was considered healthy.

“Castiel! Stop! You’re fucking killing me! Please!” He cried out the second he awoke, fury and desperation mingling into one big load of suck. Dean didn’t even care that he was begging, he’d done enough of it in hell to be damn good at it by now.

But there was no answer, and Dean didn’t know what else to do. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing more than anything else and wishing his dumbass Friday night self had thought to put a glass of water beside the bed. He was dizzy enough that he shut his eyes again, wondering if sleep was perhaps a better idea in the long run, considering.

Dean was more than ready to start the next round where he wasn’t a useless bag of bones and skin. Any day now…annnny day.

Something touched his fingers and he jumped, his breath startling as he drew it in raggedly. He felt fingers on his own, tracing the skin with warmth before very gently curling in between to lock in place. Dean tightened his fingers in return, knowing already who it was without even having to look as he felt relief wash through him. It wasn’t like the Trickster was gonna hold his hand, thankgawd.

“Hello, Dean.”

And wasn’t that just the most wonderful fucking sound in the world?

Dean laughed, but it didn’t really sound like a laugh, the covers muffling his voice along with the already haggard breath of straining lungs. The bed dipped beside him. Dean felt another hand move to the shoulder he wasn’t lying on and slowly pull back the blanket that had been tightly wrapped around him. He shivered, for various reasons really, unsure what to say or do, or if he even could.

There was a gasp from Castiel, and he felt the hands hesitate.

“I didn’t mean it.” Dean breathed out, his eyes opening but blinding as he once again stared into the rising sun. He couldn’t look at him. “I didn’t really want you to leave.” It was an apology, in Dean’s own way, that had been boiling within him for way too fucking long and just needed to be said. No matter what had happened or why, Dean wasn’t angry at Castiel. Not like he was at the Trickster and every goddamn thing that liked to fuck with them. It wasn’t Cas’s fault; the stupid, oblivious angel.

“What happened to you?”

Dean laughed again, bitterly. He hadn’t even fucking known, had he? He wasn’t sure if that was relieving or not. Even if Castiel had, it still sucked some serious balls. Dean didn’t know how to explain it all to him. Other than the fact that Castiel had _missed the boat entirely_.

Before he could put two thoughts together, there were arms beneath him, and he was lifted from the bed like he was a damn ragdoll. Dean sagged into Castiel limply, hating how damn weak he was that he wasn’t even able to hold up his fucking head. He wondered how much the angel could actually lift with his crazy powers, then remembered Dean probably weighed less than a fifteen year old girl. Which was awesome, really. 

He shivered violently, bare and skinny legs and arms exposed to the conditions of the room outside of warm blankets. Screw Nebraska, the next time this happened, Dean wanted to be in Florida.

Not that he wanted there to be a next time. _At all_.

“God…f-feel like a f-fucking…old w-woman, Cas…where the f-fuck you been?”

“Everywhere but where I should have.”

Dean felt the familiar rustle of feathers and nausea as everything around them shifted and they were no longer in the motel room. There were bits and pieces after that, as his memory faded in and out for some, stupid reason, but he was just too exhausted to care. At least his brother wasn’t there to make fun of him for passing out like a little girl.

He had to have totally blacked out at some point cause the next time he was cognitive enough to take a look around him, Dean realized he was once again back in that hospital bed where he’d woken a week before.

There was panic almost instantly, memories resurfacing and urging him to get the fuck out of there before Dr. Ratchett threatened to stick him back in therapy. He was wired up again to who the fuck knows what, but that made little difference keeping him there since it was his strength that was the problem. He yanked the breathing mask from his face, or what could be considered yanking when he could barely move. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and barely fought the blankets with all he could for a few seconds before there was a warm hand suddenly _there_ on his forehead, and he stilled, breathing haggardly.

“Breathe, Dean. Just breathe.”

Castiel’s voice was soothing, and after a minute Dean felt his heart slow back down to a non-fatal tempo enough that he could re-open his eyes. Castiel moved the breathing mask back over his mouth and that helped even more, despite the fact that he already hated the damn thing. It was the first time he’d gotten to see the angel’s face after they’d fought and Dean stared at the concerned eyes above him like he hadn’t seen him in years.

He looked a bit different than Dean remembered. Castiel was slightly more ruffled and weathered with perhaps a bit more scruff around his chin than usual. It was the angel version of being stressed out, he assumed, but then, with the kinds of battles he’d probably been seeing lately…

Castiel was doing that weird intent staring thing he usually did, but Dean found he didn’t mind it as much as he used to. Had almost missed it, even. And for a moment, there were no words spoken between them in an oddly comforting silence filled only by the sound of Dean’s heart.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Castiel asked softly, finally breaking the silence. He didn’t look mad, or frustrated. More sad, than anything.

Dean moved a thin hand up and slowly pulled the oxygen mask away from his mouth, letting it slide down his neck now that he was breathing better.

“I think I lost yer number.” He joked, giving Castiel a tired, yet sly grin.

He was relieved to see Castiel shake his head, the ghost of a smile forming before it slipped away. But it had been there, and that was enough.

“Look…about before…” Dean started, fighting the weariness that was still aching all over him. Even with the stupid tubes and medical support he felt like a zombie.

Scratch that; slug. He felt like a slug. The last thing he needed was to curse himself by thinking he was zombie-like in any way.

“You don’t hafta say if you don’t want-“

“I don’t like watching you die.”

Dean stopped mid-breath, his sentence interrupted so simply but with so much. Castiel wasn’t looking at him, his attention now moved to the machine on Dean’s left that was tracking his heart. He licked his lips, but didn’t say anything, wondering where it was all going to go after that.

“Like and dislike are not something I’m used to feeling.” He continued, the admittance making perfect sense, really, from the supernatural point of view. Hello, friggen angel, not human. Dean couldn’t help but notice that Castiel’s hand was still laid gently across his wrist. “Yet for some reason, seeing your pain causes me pain, and I’m unsure what to do with that information.”

Dean understood that well enough, if not for the whole sappiness of it doing something to his stomach that he wasn’t expecting. Cause really, who but his brother gave a shit if he was getting his ass handed to him on a daily basis? Having someone else _honestly_ concerned was just…weird. 

“I…get that. I do. But why not just tell me? That doesn’t sound as complicated as you made it out to be.”

Castiel’s lips thinned, but he didn’t look scared. More hesitant and thoughtful than the frightened he’d been out in those woods. Dean let him think it through; something he hadn’t really allowed before when everything had exploded.

“Do you recall recently…in that basement when you were protecting me from possession…when I told you that you were something I was having difficulty understanding?”

Dean nodded, noting that Castiel had referred to that act as protecting _him_ and not _his vessel_. “You and the rest of the world.” He mumbled, but the sarcasm was deflated.

Castiel did his half smile thing and Dean felt his cheeks warm.

“I was exaggerating. I know you, Dean. Better, perhaps than you know yourself. I reformed you, held your soul in my hands and cleansed you. I’ve seen what none others can truly know and it is a beautiful sight to behold indeed. Watching that light fade, watching it disappear with no sign of return was…unsettling. I was overcome, and I apologize.”

That warm feeling got even warmer as Dean stared up at his angel, not really sure what to say. Was he supposed to argue this? How the hell could he?

“And because I know all of this in you…your strengths and your hopes…I also know your fears. I know what confusion does to you. It makes you-“

“Angry.” Dean breathed out, finishing what he knew Castiel was going to say without meaning to. He bit his lip, hating that what Castiel had been worried about was what had happened. When they’d been jilted out of the rest of that awful day only to wake up with Dean on the wrong side of his understanding and start attacking because of it.

“So…” He cleared his throat. “You kissed me because you wanted to. But you didn’t answer me afterwards because…”

“Because you would yell and threaten before eventually becoming frustrated enough to dismiss me. You would not have taken _’because I wanted to’_ for an answer, I believe.”

Dean swallowed, the guilt building in the back of his throat where he wanted to deny what Castiel was saying, but knowing there was no point. He’d read him like a book, and Dean had crushed his borrowed heart just as he feared he was going to.

Wow, he _sucked_.

“Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you just…say it like it is, tell me to shut the hell up and quit bein a whiny bitch?”

“I didn’t wish to go.” Castiel said softly, and it was all he said in reply to that, but Dean filled in the rest on his own. He’d left because Dean had told him to. It was terrifying, that kind of devotion. He wasn’t really sure what to do with it, but Castiel didn’t sound like he was asking for anything in return. More that he was explaining what happened and leaving it at that.

“If I had known what the Trickster was putting you through-“

“I’m not mad.” Dean interrupted, and he knew he meant it. “But, uh…I’m glad you came back.” Dean cringed inwardly, scolding himself for how lame he could be when Castiel was far more eloquent with his words. Not to mention skirting around the uncomfortable confession of human feelings. Fuck it, he’d just have to deal with the fact that Dean wasn’t a goddamn poet. 

Castiel gave him that small smile again, his fingers flexing and moving over the skin of Dean’s hand. It was strangely soothing, even if he was being a big fat girl about it all.

“We really need to get the fuck out of this loop.” Dean grumbled, taking a slightly staggered breath before Castiel moved to place the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose again. Dean gave him a look for it, but it went unheeded. The conversation seemed to have ended there, but Dean couldn’t tell if Castiel had expected anything more. 

Did he have anything to give back to him if he _was_ expecting it?

“Yes, we do. But I will not leave you on your own this time. I promise. We can both see how well that decision ended anyway.”

Dean almost laughed, his eyebrows creasing as he had to force his lungs to drag in more air. He’d just made a joke, at Dean’s expense no less. At the same time, he’d done exactly what he needed to in order to reassure him, just by saying that Dean would no longer be on his own.

He kinda sorta hoped they’d get back to the subject of the kissing thing eventually. Dean very nearly laughed aloud at himself for that, wondering where the hell it was all stemming from, but not really caring. That didn’t mean anything, right? He made out with chicks all the time, but he wasn’t about to go marrying them…man was it getting harder to think…though Cas kissed better than a whole lot of those girls ever had…

“Like you did any better, you cannon fodder with wings.” Dean grumbled around the muffle of the mask. He twisted his hand so that it was palm upwards beneath Castiel’s, but the angel did the rest. Castiel’s fingers slowly intertwined in his and Dean wasn’t sure how to describe what that did to him.

Damnit, he was such a fucking girl.

“Not one of my better weeks, I’ll admit.” Castiel grinned, but there was a haunted look in his eyes. “Although, I am far better with a sword than I used to be.”

“Ha, now there’s a useful skill. Do me a favor then. The next time you see the Trickster, chop off the bastard’s leg and beat him with it.” Dean grumbled, his words slurring slightly as he felt exhaustion take its toll.

“Rest, Dean. They’ve put you on medicine, and given you things to keep you from starving any further.”

“S’no point. S’all gonna come back up anyway…”

Dean closed his eyes for a second, willing the dizziness to go away. He hated feeling so godforsakenly weak. It was so amazingly unbearable but he had nothing left in him to fight. Then he felt Castiel’s fingers on his forehead and he cracked his eyes open, seeing the familiar two fingered salute that the angel did to knock someone out.

“Not while I’m here, it won’t.” And he said it with such assurance, that Dean kinda believed him. Not that he was all that happy with being angel mojoed into dreamland though, and was about to protest before he sacked right out.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Something didn’t feel right.

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

And then he froze, his eyes popping open as he stared at his forearm two inches in front of his face in a way that nearly made him cross eyed.

It was normal, bulky and muscled. A healthy, gun toting, weight lifting _man_ arm.

Dean sat up quickly with a gasp, letting the blankets fall from his chest as he ran his hands over himself with splayed fingers. No jutting ribs or collarbone, his hipbones were safely tucked beneath layers of built muscle and his legs no longer resembled popsicle sticks.

He was back to normal.

Dean laughed aloud with a nearly crazed sound, his heart beating madly in his healthy chest. He was absolutely _starving_ , but only in the empty stomach way. Not the barely standing or fitting in a teenager’s size pair of pants way at all. It was an _amazing_ feeling.

Then he turned, remembering that he hadn’t been alone on that previous Saturday, only to find an empty corner of the room instead of what he was hoping. Dean stared at it for a moment, willing the space to be filled, but unsure exactly how he could ask. He wasn’t as angry at Castiel for abandoning him there to starve as he thought he’d be. A little irritated maybe…but he had every right to be. Not that Dean wasn’t gonna give him shit for it anyway, but it would’ve helped if the angel had been there.

He wasn’t out getting his ass handed to him again, was he?

Dean dressed silently, unsure what to expect since the Trickster had claimed before that he was facing the final round and now it was done. The clock said it was Saturday, and everything was going on outside as usual with the same broken record of sound and motion. So what happened now?

He tucked a gun into his back waistband just to be sure.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Dean ordered practically everything he thought he could stomach once he got to the diner. It got him a few strange looks and nearly made him nauseous after the first twenty minutes, but he didn’t really fucking care. It was all staying down, and the only sick he felt was from having too much syrup on practically everything.

Having a full stomach was AMAZING.

He lingered for as long as he could in the diner afterwards, hoping for some crazy reason that Cas might randomly show up, just to scare the shit out of him. But the seat across from him remained empty.

Hadn’t he said he was gonna stick around?

But _shit_ , why did it matter so much to Dean now?

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

Dean walked from the diner back towards the motel, moving aside when the crazy old lady ran her Mercedes through a red light and smashed into a mini-van. He picked up the kid that tried to run into the road before he could get slammed by the biker who was rubber necking the crash, and set him down on the sidewalk where the kid flipped him off. Every damn time too, ungrateful spawn. Dean then continued on walking around the building. It all seemed like second nature to him now. Stupid Saturday.

Once around to the back and into the office building’s parking lot, however, the figure standing alone in the center of it immediately caught his attention.

The Trickster was dressed in the exact same clothes that Dean was. His hands deep into his jean pockets as he stood casually with a smirk on his face that was all sorts of unwelcome in Dean’s eyes.

Dean walked faster, going straight to him and ready to beat the snot out of him even if it killed him.

“What the f-“

“Game’s over kid. You win.”

Dean froze, and he could have sworn his heart stopped in his chest. It took him a moment to pull himself back together again and comprehend the interruption.

“What?”

“Exactly what you heard, bucko. Your pet angel came to chat with me this morning, and he’s seceding from the game. A noble sacrifice or some bullshit like that, whatever. He’s kinda goin around the rules by naming himself as the one to get offed, but hey, so long as the job gets done…”

Dean’s eyes widened in horror, his hands clenching into fists as realization started to kick in.

“That’s…that’s not…he can’t do that. YOU can’t do that!”

“Oh ho, looks who’s tellin _me_ what I can and can’t do! You bitch and moan all you want, but there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Besides, you should be ecstatic! You get to go back to the mindless and normal flow of time and inevitability! Back to your mentally unstable family! I figured you’d be hugging me or something.”

Dean felt his eye twitch and his lip curl, the revulsion and apprehension now becoming a staple in his life for the past hundred days.

“Fuck that and fuck you! What’d you do to him you sonufabitch!?”

“Who, your psycho bro? Noth-“

“No, you asshole! What’d you do to Cas!?”

The Trickster eyed him for a contemplative moment and Dean felt his breath catch. Had he dispatched Castiel already? Was that why he hadn’t been there that morning? Why had Cas conceded? And of all things, offered himself up as a martyr? Seriously?

And he’d done it for Dean. _Why always for him?_

“I haven’t done anything. Yet. But your angel is on borrowed time as it is, so if you want a goodbye, you better go and get it. See? I’m not so heartless after all.”

Dean ground his teeth. “Where is he then?”

“Not a damn clue. You got ten minutes left before I skip out. Though I can promise you this; tomorrow will be Sunday, regardless. See ya on the flip side, kid.”

And he disappeared, leaving nothing but Dean blinking into the sunlight in an abandoned parking lot on his own.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

Dean ran faster than his lungs could keep up.

The only place he could even possibly think of to find the angel, _his_ angel, was where everything seemed to start over from day after day. If not, Dean wasn’t really sure where to go from there, but the motel was where his instincts had told him to try first, and that was what Dean listened to.

He was pissed. _Very_ pissed, and there were a million angry rants just waiting to be screamed at the tip of his tongue. So many excuses, so many reasons, so much denial. It was starting to hurt just to keep it all in. But there was something else beneath that anger; something that felt like sorrow, but it was too foreign of a thing to acknowledge.

Dean swiped his key into the door jam, waiting impatiently for the click as he tried to catch his breath before he kicked into the room with an angry grunt.

“Castiel!”

His eyes readjusted to the inside light, far too slowly for his liking, before he recognized the trench coat clad figure standing on the opposite side of the room. Castiel was looking at him with an expression of confusion, but not really surprise. Relief, maybe?

“Hello, Dean.” He said in his usual, unemotional tone as Dean slammed the door closed. “You look much healthier than yesterday’s Saturday.” Even the angel was having problems keeping some kind of classification of the days. It was all madness.

Dean fumed, his fists shaking with what felt like righteous fury.

“Why?” He ground out, standing his ground in front of the door.

Castiel said nothing.

“Damnit, Cas, just tell me _why_!”

“I do not know the question.”

And then Dean was moving, crossing the room in about four steps before his fists bunched into the angel’s shirt and he shoved him backwards rather unceremoniously into the wall. It wasn’t a very kind push, but there was some sense in the back of Dean’s head that knew he wasn’t hurting him. He hoped, at least.

“Yes you fucking do! Why’d you do it!? We were gonna hold our ground! Deal with it to the very end until that asshole gave up on his fucking game! That was the plan, wasn’t it?!”

Castiel stared up at him with a strong, unblinking gaze, but it was hard to read his expression. It seemed like a vague mix of astonishment and incomprehension.

“That was-“

“So what happened?! You think that giving yourself up to that douchebag is gonna solve it, huh? Void the game entirely so that he could drag your ass who knows where and I’d go free, was that it?!”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean realized he just didn’t want to hear it. Which was completely the opposite of his demand for answers. He slammed his clothing fisted hands harder into the angel’s chest and felt a satisfying whoosh of air in response.

“You fucking promised! This doesn’t solve anything! It doesn’t fix it, it doesn’t win it, it just makes it worse, no matter what angle you look at it. The war doesn’t end here, it doesn’t stop with him! Don’t you get it, you stupid angel?! I can’t…I won’t…” Dean’s arms were shaking and he finally curled his head down and forward so that his forehead rested on his wrists. 

Everything he’d thought about saying and arguing had boiled itself into a mass of confusion and anger, all bordering on the edge of helplessness.

“Not for me…fuck, Cas, don’t do this… _please_.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut as the anger started to bleed from him like an open wound, his shoulders shaking slightly for no damn good reason. Without the anger, all that was left was that bitter sadness he didn’t want to accept or even acknowledge. 

Because that meant he didn’t just respect and miss Castiel, but that he cared for him too.

There were fingers on his skin, hands on his hands that just barely touched his face, but it was a trigger that launched Dean’s anger back to the forefront. He jerked back, yanking his head up to look at Castiel again before re-tightening his hold on the wrinkling shirt and tie.

“No…no, you don’t. You don’t get to comfort me, not after this. It’s not just about me, damnit! All those times you stood in the way when the zombies came, or…or pulled me to safety when the ceiling was falling so that you could take the hit? Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to scream my head off at you? When you left and went into battle completely on your own, with no way I could follow…why the fuck is it so difficult for you to let me help you?!”

Castiel continued to stare at him with widening eyes, his lips now parted as if he wanted to say something, but Dean really wasn’t letting him. He didn’t want an explanation, he just wanted him to take it all back. Soak it all in, even, if that’s what gave him a damn clue.

“Hell, is it that kiss? Is that it? Do you think you’re the only sorry sonofabitch here who has problems dealing with the whole like and dislike thing?! Well I got news for you, you fucking jerk, it ain’t just you! In fact, it’s pretty much every godforsaken creature thrown onto this rock. But just because…just when…fuck Cas, I can’t do this without you!” 

Dean hadn’t a clue what he was saying anymore, his jumbled thoughts tumbling from his mouth without organization or order. He wasn’t sure how much time was left of the ten minutes the Trickster had threatened him with, but he knew it had to have been close. It just wasn’t fucking fair, after everything they’d gone through. 

Castiel was close and here, after being absent for too long, wrapped up in Dean’s hands without even the slightest hint of pulling himself free.

“I watched you die one time…one fucking time, and that was one time too many.” He blurted out, his voice softer, but just as strained. “And I don’t ever wanna see it again. Don’t do this to me…I fucking starved to death hoping for the chance that you’d come back and beat the snot outta me for being such a dipshit. It wasn’t…I wasn’t…”

He was just so damn close…

And Dean’s anger, sorrow and aching heart suddenly all made a unanimous decision for him before he had the time to process anything more.

“You know what? Fuck it. Have a taste of your own damn medicine. Cause I won’t watch you die without you knowing this first.”

He surged forward, pressing the weight of himself into Castiel even as he yanked him into him, crushing their lips together with far less tenderness than their first kiss. He felt a gasp of air from the angel, Dean’s breath mingling with Castiel’s as Dean paused for only a second before he surged back in again. He released Castiel’s shirt and moved his hands to the angel’s neck, marveling in the touch and sensation that warmed through him like a shock of electricity and want.

It was everything he’d always wanted to do, needed to do, even without realizing it. But all thought process ended there when Castiel’s lips parted and allowed him in. He dipped his head forward, breathing in deeply through his nose as it angled him above Castiel like he would drown him just by presence and lips alone. Castiel didn’t fight him, didn’t hesitate and after a moment seemed to know exactly what he was doing in reply. 

The stupid angel had a crazy learning curve, after all, and this seemed no more difficult for him to learn than shooting a gun had. The thought drove Dean crazy, but he couldn’t fight that sorrow of their reality at the same time, and he pulled himself away. A half whimper of sound vibrating in his throat at the loss of what had been the most amazing fucking thing he’d felt in a long time.

Dean didn’t move far, and his hands were still splayed down either side of Castiel’s face like he was cradling him there; holding him in place. Willing the angel to remain where Dean held him no matter what the douchebag of a demi-god thought he’d staked to claim. Dean wondered when it was, exactly, that he’d started to feel so possessive.

Probably when he started to lose everything.

Castiel was looking at him, but Dean was trying hard not to make eye contact, his gaze focused on those damn lips that he wanted more than anything to taste again. He’d felt so human, so real and there, but with an otherworldliness even in his kiss. It was intoxicating.

“Dean…” The name was quiet and breathless, and Dean could feel the warmth of it since he was still so very close. He swallowed, but didn’t reply.

“May I speak now?”

And wasn’t that just a guilty stab to the heart, considering everything Dean had thrown at him already. Like Castiel really needed to ask him permission for _anything_ that wasn’t choosing to get his ass killed.

“Yah’ok.” He mumbled, his lips tingling and a warmth settling in his gut that made it feel like all of the blood was rushing out of his head. Great timing.

“As much as I… _appreciate_ your words…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dean blinked, his eyes moving from Castiel’s lips down to the angel’s tie as he tried to go over what it was exactly he’d just burst in screaming about and whether or not it had been coherent.

“What?” He asked, in almost a whisper.

“I had no intention of breaking my promise to you.” Castiel licked his lips, and Dean couldn’t help but move his eyes back to them. Fucking distracting. “And I’m unsure why it is you think I have.”

Dean’s eyebrows creased as he blinked again, his mind starting to run itself in circles between the rant he’d just thrown in Castiel’s face back to what the Trickster had told him. He pushed himself back, his hands moving down to the front of Castiel’s trench coat, but with open palms rather than clenching fingers. He met that piercing gaze again and wondered if their expressions were as mirrored in confusion as he felt they were.

“But you…the…The Trickster said you…he said the game was over.”

“Is…”

“He said you’d handed yourself over like some kind of sacrifice or something. That I’d won his stupid ass game since you’d gone to him…and, and offered yourself up to…to be offed…” Dean swallowed again, realizing how entirely stupid it sounded now that he was saying it back.

Castiel said nothing.

“I listened to the fucking Trickster, didn’t I?” Dean spoke his error aloud, dawning realization never sounding so incredibly stupid as it did then.

Castiel smiled, sympathetic.

“I have not seen the Trickster since the city park. And you were present at the time.”

Dean huffed out a breath that sounded like a laugh. It was bordering more on one of those delirious laughs he’d been hearing from himself for the past three months, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

“Where the fuck were you this morning?” He asked, without heat.

Castiel turned his head to the side and Dean followed his gaze, glancing at the table where all of his weapons were waiting for him that had been cleaned on that forgotten Friday. Beside them was sitting a small pile of organized medical supplies. A few bags of clear fluid that looked like they were used for an IV along with some bandages and other things that Dean couldn’t identify. All looked sanitary, though, like they’d been genked straight from a hospital storage closet.

“I borrowed what I thought you might need if we could not get you to the hospital in time this morning. Considering the state you were in yesterday, I assumed that we could not take the risk of waiting much longer than a few hours after you awoke. It seems my fears were unfounded, as you appear fine. Unfortunately, it took just a little more of my time to accomplish this than I thought it would. I apologize for not being here when you awoke.”

Dean had no words as he stared at the small pile of what Castiel had ‘borrowed’ for him. He turned back to look at him, but the confusion he’d seen before was gone, and he was back to his usual expression of smug know-it-all. But not just that, as there was also a tenderness there that Dean wasn’t used to seeing.

“No, that’s…yeah, that’s ok. Thanks, I, uh…”

And everything suddenly flooded back to him of what he’d just done a minute ago.

“Oh…oh shit.”

Dean yanked his hands backwards and took a few steps back, staring at Castiel in absolute mortification as if a bomb was going to drop on him at any moment. Lighting would strike, plagues would tear him to pieces, fire and brimstone would rain from the heavens…ya know, the usual.

But nothing happened, and Dean felt even more stupid with his lengthening list of over reactions that day.

“So I…um…about…wait, are you…are you, ok? I mean…why aren’t…I haven’t got… Fuck, Cas, I mean…” And yeah, that was a linguistic master at work there.

“Holy shit…do you think the Trickster planned this from the beginning?” And now that was a strange thought. A strange, _disturbing_ thought.

Castiel sighed, his hands moving to straighten the front of his shirt, but not really getting very far seeing as the front had been forcefully untucked after Dean’s not-so-subtle yank and push. He gave up after a second, then moved those few steps to close the distance between them again. Dean couldn’t seem to move himself back any further. Wasn’t even sure if he wanted to.

“I don’t, I mean…how’re we-“ Dean finally stopped speaking after Castiel placed a finger to his lips, silencing him with such ease that Sam probably would have paid the angel to learn such a trick.

“Dean, I’m fine. Thank you, for your concern and for your words, but I think we’ve both said just about enough.” Castiel moved his finger and replaced it a breath later with his lips, his hands moving almost cautiously to Dean’s shoulders, as if there might still be any doubts Dean had. He smiled into the kiss, finally relaxing, and amused that Castiel could think otherwise after Dean had slammed him into the wall and ravished him only minutes ago.

He made sure to quell any doubts the angel might have left. 

Why had Dean kissed him? Because he wanted to.

And he didn’t even care if that pervert of a demi-god was watching.

 

~~~~~&~~~~~

 

Dean opened his eyes and shut them almost instantly, a bright, perfectly placed ray of sunshine falling directly across his vision that scorched his retinas on contact. He cursed, stuffing his face into his pillow and rolling over slightly in order to avoid the stretch of unnecessary light.

Then he realized that his phone was ringing.

Dean groaned, knowing what that meant, and that soon the storms were going to come raging in through the front door for another day in the gauntlet. He shifted upwards, squinting into the light only to pause as he realized that his phone was ringing loudly from the night stand beside the bed.

Now that was different. The phone had always been in his coat pocket.

“Huh.” Dean huffed out, reaching forward and eyeballing his brother’s name on the caller ID before he flipped it open and took in a breath.

“Yeah?”

_”Dude, where the hell are you?”_

“Uh…” Dean wiped a hand down his face and continued to swipe his fingers wearily until his hand reached his chest.

His bare chest.

Wait.

_”Dean! You there?”_

Dean lifted the covers slightly, realizing he was barebuck naked as he blinked a couple of times and tried to recall when the last time was he’d slept that way. Certainly not with his brother in the room, that was for damn sure…but even more certainly was during the whole stupid Trickster loop. He’d always restarted in the clothes he’d gone to sleep in.

Why were things different?

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m here. Sup?”

_”Damnit Dean, you were supposed to be working, not drinking. You said you’d be here by eight, remember?”_

“Holy crap Sam, why do you always gotta assume that I’ve been drin…”

Dean’s breath caught. He licked his lips, glancing up at the ancient clock he’d seen every damn morning for the past three fucking months, and squinted at it as he tried to stare through the sunbeam.

It was eight in the morning. On Sunday.

“It’s Sunday…jesus…it’s…Sam, it’s _Sunday_.”

_”Duh, no kidding. That’s when we agreed, remember?”_

Dean huffed out a breath of a laugh, twisting himself towards the corner of the room in order to find Castiel in his usual spot, only to find it empty. But then there was movement out of the corner of his eye, and that, combined with the thought of finding Castiel, suddenly flooded everything back to him.

Kissing Castiel. Losing clothing. Standing, sitting, falling….oh.

Dean half twisted himself to catch sight of Castiel himself, laid out and looking exceptionally comfortable as he was half covered with a sheet on the bed beside him. He was staring up at him, completely awake and with a slightly amused expression as he watched Dean fluster. Since when did the damn angel get a sense of humor?

“Whoah! Oh! Ha…yeah, I…yeah, ok.” Dean barked out a sharp laugh before turning back towards the window. He felt Castiel’s fingers move across the skin of his back and it made him shiver for all the right reasons.

 _”Dean, you ok?”_ Sam sounded concerned, and wasn’t that just the opposite of what Dean was feeling right now.

“Yeah, yeah Sammy, everything…actually everything is kinda awesome.” He turned back and grinned widely down at the disheveled face next to him as Castiel silently moved his hand lower down Dean’s back, watching him the entire time. It nearly made him groan, but he wasn’t going to subject his brother to that. 

Friggen angel was doing it on purpose.

“The book, Dean.” Castiel said softly, and Dean didn’t have a clue what he was talking about as he was far more distracted by his lips than the words coming out of them.

“What? Oh!” He turned back around, shaking his head and clearing his throat, trying hard to ignore that hand. “Sam, listen, I got, uh…I got something I gotta do here, but I’ll be there tonight, ok? Promise. Cas, uh…he says there’s a book you geeks can look up called the Sefer… Raziel Hamalakalahdingdong or something like that. I don’t even know, but you’re both geniuses, so have at it.” Dean grinned, listening to his brother sputter on the other end. “Tell Bobby I’ll get you off his hands later, huh? No worries, I got this.”

_”Whoah, whoah, what? The Hama who? Dean? You sure? I mean…I could hitch something and come down if you’re covering up some kinda problem there…”_

“Dude, this is like, the opposite of a problem. Trust me. I’ll see ya tonight.” And Dean snapped the phone closed with a swift click. He missed Sam a great deal, especially considering how long the Trickster had kept them there, and would have been more than happy to get his ass up to Sioux Falls to see him…

But Sam was safe. And there was something else he needed to make up for first.

Dean sat still for a second, closing his eyes as the warmth of the sun settled across his healthy skin that had no zombie bites, no tree splinters, no werewolf scars and every healthy muscle he’d been honing since the age of thirteen. 

It wasn’t Saturday anymore.

And best of all, he’d finally realized that, even without the Trickster’s stupid games, he’d been missing something really important day after day after day. Something he wasn’t overlooking any longer.

Castiel sat up behind him, and Dean leaned backwards until his back was resting against the angel’s shoulder.

“Is this ok?” Castiel asked him softly as he kissed his temple, and Dean laughed in a way he hadn’t in a long time. Like the angel hadn’t just been teasing him a moment before. Like they hadn’t practically thrown themselves together the night before. Little late to be asking now.

“Yeah. Yeah this is more than ok. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, Cas.” He twisted his head back so that he could look up into those intense blue eyes. Dean was glad to see that there wasn’t a damn bit of regret or apprehension on Castiel’s face. Not anymore.

“If all it took was to kill you over and over again…” Castiel trailed off, his voice rumbling deeply as Dean lifted an eyebrow in response.

“Don’t even think about it. I have seen enough of my insides to last me to the end of days, thanks much.” Dean turned his head and glanced at Castiel’s bare legs that were folded beneath him and barely hidden underneath the thin sheet. Dean licked his lips. “No more crazy storms…no more fucking demi-gods…hell, no more growling, biting, clawing, groaning… _whaugh!_ ”

Castiel shifted backwards suddenly and Dean cried out as he fell into the angel’s lap, his fingers splaying across the blanket as he stared up with wide eyes. Castiel laughed softly, and whatever tangent Dean had been going off on died in the back of his throat. He’d never really heard the angel laugh before.

“Really? No more clawing…growling…groaning…you’ve had enough already?” And there was a glint in Castiel’s eyes that made Dean lose feeling in his toes. 

He grinned and rolled himself sideways, forcing Castiel onto his back as Dean hovered over top of him. It was the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen, and damn if he wasn’t talking about the stupid, stone-faced, pain in the ass angel that he’d been trying to get rid of for nearly half a year.

Well, maybe for about a month, really. Dean realized Cas had probably been growin on him for a long time before then, he just hadn’t noticed. Funny how that worked.

“Purified creatures, my ass. Did you sleep at all?”

“I don’t…”

“Ok, never mind. Somehow the thought of you staying up all night staring at me goes beyond the limits of what I can take from this whole fiasco.”

Castiel smiled. “I do rest, it’s just not the same way you do, and not hardly as often.” He said, ignoring Dean’s sarcasm as he thread his fingers into his hair. Holy crap that felt good. “Although I’m fairly certain that my need to do so is currently due to the time that was spent trapped within the Trickster’s universe.”

Dean groaned. “Ya know, I really don’t want to believe that he set us up for this. I mean, seriously, the guy has _got_ to have better things to do with his time. More suitable idiots to mess with and assholes to knock down a peg. This whole thing? It’s just weird. Like a supernatural matchmaker or something.”

“Do you regret this?”

“Hell no. I regret the amount of blood I lost and the pain I had to go through for it…nothing like being torn to pieces every damn day to make you feel alive, huh? Although, the outcome is kinda awesome. Do you?”

Castiel shook his head as he dragged his fingers down the side of Dean’s cheek, and Dean pressed into them, closing his eyes and taking in a slow breath.

“What makes you feel alive, Dean?” Castiel asked him softly, and Dean opened his eyes. It was a question that he recalled once asking him. On one of those Saturdays in the basement of the high school that was yesterday yet so many days ago at the same time.

Dean didn’t answer, instead leaning down to capture those lips again and hold him there for as long as he needed to. Castiel let out a small sound and Dean groaned, forcing the angel’s lips to part and re-claiming all over again what he’d barely taken his time with the previous night.

Castiel broke them apart after a minute, his breath mingling with Dean’s and his hand still lingering on his morning stubbled cheek.

“That was not an answer.” He stated plainly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I don’t really know what to say. It’s not that easy.”

Castiel blinked up at him for a moment in silence before suddenly pushing upwards and forcing Dean to roll back. He fell onto his back for the second time with a small cry, but there wasn’t much Dean could do about it since Castiel followed him immediately afterwards and straddled overtop of his hips. Not much Dean would argue about it either, as they lost the sheet entirely.

Dean was suddenly very much aware of the position he’d found himself in, along with how very naked the both of them were. He swallowed, watching as Castiel bent over top of him and gently nuzzled into his collarbone, making Dean gasp in a breath as he thanked anyone listening that they still had an hour til checkout.

“Yes it is. Even if it has to repeat a hundred times before you see it. Sometimes,” Castiel half whispered into his neck, his deep voice resonating into Dean’s skin as he heard his own words given back to him with more impact than they’d ever had coming from him.

“It really is that easy.”

 _Fin_  
~~~~~ &~~~~~


End file.
